Crime Log

Opening up the daily paper, you decide to catch up on the local news. When you check the crime log, you notice a familiar name: yours. The log says you’re wanted for a crime you didn’t commit. Suddenly, you hear three loud knocks on the door, followed by a man yelling, “Police! Open up!” What did the paper say and how are you going to get out of this?

Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.

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178 thoughts on “Crime Log

  1. jawjeana

    First time writing and trying this – 448 words.

    Sunday morning. Day of rest. Yesterday’s paper gleams up at me, untouched. I take it from the table and take a sip of my coffee. It 10:02am, I have time to kill. I’m not really a news reader so I just skip straight for the juicy gossip: the crime log. I glimpse through the column seeing if anything will take my eye. My eyes reach the second story and no! It can’t! Felicity Turpin. F-e-l-i-c-i-t-y T-u-r-p-i-n. The name sounds slowly in my head. That’s, that’s –
    Three bangs on my door interrupt and confirm my thoughts, “Police! Open up!”
    I know I can’t keep them waiting, I’m no criminal; I must cooperate. I try to snatch the paper, what is it I am even being accused of? The paper drops to the floor and I know I’ve wasted too much time already. I go to the door, white as a sheet.
    “Are you Felicity Turpin?” The words are muffled in my ears. My mouth goes all dry and hangs open as I nod my head and see the blinding flash of blue lights blur my vision as my head gets pushed into a police car. My neighbours are fixated on me, I will be this week’s book club gossip.
    I cough a little and try to speak, a hoarse whisper strains out, “what am I being arrested for exactly?” I mean, I know they told me but…
    “Fraud ma’am”
    Me, a fraudster? I can’t even lie my way out of a paper bag!
    Time passes so fast, its interview time already. My brow is sweaty, and my palms, and the back of my knees, and my feet.
    “Felicity Turpin… if that is your real name?” Wait, what? I feel anger wash through me at this comment and retort,
    “No disrespect, of course it is my real name. If I was making up a name I think I would be a bit more creative than that. I rather like the name Esmerelda Locket”. Suddenly I feel the confidence burst out of me. I didn’t do this crime, why am I worried?
    My comment stirred up a fuss in the office, I actually convinced them. They went back and checked their paperwork.
    The woman they are looking for is called Jane Stamp (I can see why she took my name). Turns out she’s an international fraudster and to be honest, she messed with the wrong woman because I fight for my cause and being arrested saved my bank from having a hell of a lot of zeros taken.
    You know what the ironic thing is though? I was getting accused of being an identity thief, yet I was the identity victim.

  2. Yearoftheselfie

    Part 3

    “What did you tell them?” I screamed. Jay sat hovering on the wall.
    “Nothing I swear ” Jay said.
    I heard banging on door.”Jorden, open the door, “look what you did , Jay”
    And I shot my gun right to his head.

    _________________________

    Police report :
    We went to Jorden Camille’s residence to ask about murders that have been occurring around town. We knocked on the door. We heard Jorden yell like he was speaking to someone. Then we heard a gunshot. We found the door had been forced open and we entered. We found Jorden lying dead on the ground in front of a mirror. Through autopsy and evidence it seems to be a suicide. We found a newspaper in car turned to the report on the recent murders.
    Several witness saw him at a local diner and reported that he seemed nervous after reading the paper.

  3. Yearoftheselfie

    Part 2
    the waitress placed the pie in front of me and smiled. I took a bite. And looked down at the ad. “Wanted for murder” I nearly choked on the pie and leaned over in a coughing fit. I thought I had covered my tracks. As people around the diner ran to my aid. “Pastor Jorden !! ” a tall thin man said. “I’m fine , thank you everyone, Lord bless you,” I said.

    As everyone sat back down, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed. ” Kate they found out ,” I whispered. “What did they find out ?”she replied with clenched teeth. “About Jay” I replied with clenched teeth.
    “Who is Jay ?” I heard a baby crying in the background, ” I’ve gotta go Jorden”

    I heard the clock of the receiver and I gritted my teeth. “You alright?” The waitress asked as she refilled my coffee,”I’m fine, darling, could I get my bill?” I said with a cheerful smile. “Of course” the waitress said.

    I ate my pie quietly and paid my check. I walked to my car and drove to 99 Valley Road, parked and grabbed my gun out of my glove case. I rang the door bell.when no on answered I ripped open the screen door and banged my fists on the door.

    “Jay,” I hollered, I shoved the door open and ran into the house.

  4. Yearoftheselfie

    I sat sipping a cup a coffee in the dim light of Lucy’s all night diner. I scanned through the newspaper I had bought from the stand by the candy shop.
    The waitress came by , “Anything Else, Jorden ? ” she said with her thick southern accent . “A slice of rhubarb pie,” I said with a smile. “Comin’ right up” she replied.

    I browsed the crime logs, until I feel upon a wanted ad. I split my coffee all over self. “Jorden Camille wanted” the title read. I ran through my lost of crimes.
    Tax evasion, shoplifting, false advertising,counterfeit, I looked down at the
    As

  5. PCCotsalas

    “I’m law-abiding, won’t even park by a lamppost!” I was taken cuffed into state police barracks in Foxboro. Detectives Brogan and Maxim reiterated my rights. I informed them frantically I was working the night prior. That morning I’d commenced typically. I grabbed the paper from the driveway. Crinkling emitted. I unwrapped my granola bar, unrolled the paper simultaneously. The front page compelled: Milton Stick-Up Incriminates Local. A convenience store several towns over was robbed at gunpoint the night before. Police search out… I choked on my pecan granola bar, seeing my name. The aggressive knock arrived on-queue. Surrendering my effects, I tried explaining. “I don’t even know where Milton is.”
    “One phone call, call someone who cares,” Brogan advised, standing me before a payphone by holding. I was wrong. The payphone by the men’s room at my warehouse job wasn’t last in existence. Two antiquated fixtures remained. I called my brother, fruitlessly. He slept late, after an all-nighter of video-games.
    Shackled in an interrogation room with one-way mirror, Brogan sat across. “You’ve right to silence without counsel.”
    “I’m innocent, don’t need representation!”
    “For eight hours, including time of the robbery there wasn’t positive location on your phone.”
    “I turn it off at work!”
    Brogan read the report. “Dark-haired Caucasian man, bandana across lower-face entered. Cashier notes liquor-smell on breath, despite bandana.” Accusation amassed Brogan’s eyes, looking up at me. “You’ve a public intoxication; charged 2014.”
    “I’m two years sober.”
    “Assailant fired warning shot with left-hand.”
    “I’m right-handed!”
    Brogan’s bias was as one-sided as the mirror. Without acknowledging, he read. “Getaway car:‘08 Buick Lacrosse crashed into fire hydrant three miles from scene. Handgun and ID recovered. Nine-millimeter was stolen from Nashua bank guard six weeks ago.” He showed me an evidence-bag. “Your identification, same used to rent the car.”
    “That’s my old license. This was in a shoebox… ooh… Last week, my brother had a friend from New Hampshire over.” He and Riley played online video-games together. “I saw him leave my room, said he mistook it for the guest-room.” Looking for my lighter, I noticed the shoebox lid out of place, overlooking it. Riley was left-handed.
    “Convenient,” Brogan commented sarcastically. Brogan was trying to intimidate. I watched Criminal Minds, knew technique. He produced the car-rental agreement. “This isn’t my signature! I misspelled my last name?!” This was beneficial of a complex Greek surname. “O’s replacing an A.”
    Maxim entered. “This isn’t our guy. Riley Chancellor from North Conway was arrested in Amesbury. He had the cash, confessed.”
    Brogan stammered. “What about accessory, the surveillance?”
    “Circumstantial evidence, reasonable doubt, picked apart like dry-roasted chicken. We subpoenaed time-cards. Alibi passes, worked between 4pm and midnight. Face isn’t clear in the footage, won’t hold.” He nodded at me. “Plus he lives miles away. Should we imply he crashed and hitchhiked, fourteen-hundred cash-dollars on him?”
    I ate my returned half-eaten granola bar, repairing my delayed routine. Brogan said “Sorry detention was inconvenient-.”
    “Call someone who cares,” I indicated the second-to-last payphone.

  6. Isalilac

    The kettle whistled shrilly on the stove-top, letting out a jet of hot air. Groggily, I lifted it up and poured myself a cup of coffee. I sat down at the small square of wood that was my dining table. I lifted up today’s newspaper and began to read. The coffee was the only thing that prevented me from falling asleep. It was a beautiful day. Overcast, with an occasional burst of warm sunlight. A lazy breeze drifted through the window as my eyes traveled further down the page.

    I turned the page and almost spewed a mouthful of coffee all over it. I was staring at a grainy picture of myself with a caption underneath. “WANTED FOR THE QUESTIONING OF THE BRUTAL MURDER OF DARREN SHAN” I read the whole article and collapsed in my chair. How on Earth could this be happening? I had never killed anyone or anything my entire life. Well, except for a couple of spiders I’d never even heard of that guy I was supposed to have killed. I mean, how could I have murdered a guy I had never even heard of? There was a knock on my front door and I froze. Who could that be? Surely the police wouldn’t come so early. I watched enough TV to know that the first thing policemen do in the morning is eat some sugar coated donuts. I advanced slowly towards the door and glanced through the peephole. And there they were. My worst nightmare. Well, not exactly. But after you’ve become a known criminal you’re always going to feel that slight twinge of fear whenever you see you see a cop. I opened the door, slowly, torturously wondering vaguely whether offering them some donuts would win some points in my favor. But when I saw who was standing before me, I knew my donuts wouldn’t win any battles for me. The cop was tall and buff and could have crushed my bones in a single swipe. “Ms. Johnson?” His voice was gruff and hoarse, as if he had rocks in his mouth. As he spoke, he took some handcuffs from his belt and waved them in the air. Just the sight of them made me whimper. I thought about making a run for it but immediately put that idea out of my head. I didn’t need to be in any more trouble than I was already in. “You are under arrest under the charge of murder. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer the questions. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult…”

    His words seemed to be far away. I slightly remembered the cold feeling of the metal handcuffs against my skin and the click of the key as he locked my wrists in. I was swept into a car and taken to a low brownstone building which must have served as the town’s police headquarters. They asked me questions that I really couldn’t quite answer. They let me go but I had to attend a hearing and I wasn’t permitted to leave the country. All in all, the only thing I really noticed was that jail cells have terrible, open air bathrooms. So if you’re planning on robbing a bank anytime, I’d think twice. I really wouldn’t want to be stuck with a grimy toilet with no tissue paper for the rest of my life.

    1. Isalilac

      Hi guys!
      This is my first ever short story on this website! The prompts are really quite amazing. I’m open to feedback- good or bad and I’m looking forward to writing more!

  7. Cassiewrites

    “Ugh, my head!” I winced, clutching my pounding head and glancing around at my surroundings.

    I was in my hotel room, a cheap hotel in Las Vegas. Far away from the dazzling lights, colors and energy of the Strip, it was the only one we’d been able to afford. Still, we didn’t mind it. The important thing was that the six of us were together for Stacey’s hen weekend. We were so excited to be on the holiday of our lives, far away from our peaceful, quaint little English village, just a short bus ride away from all the shows, casinos, bars and parties we had previously only dreamed of.

    I was, however, unsure of what Jessica and myself were doing back in our hotel room. I was still wearing last night’s dress, laying on my bed, with a stinking headache.

    “I’m never drinking again!” I murmured, as I slowly plodded to the bathroom, feeling nauseous and clutching my pounding head.

    After peeing and feeling relieved at not vomiting, I decided to make some instant coffee. While waiting for the kettle to boil, I absent-mindedly flicked through the free newspaper the cute guy at reception had given to us. It mostly comprised of adverts about shows and events. But two words stood out from the others. Lucy Reynolds.

    “It can’t be!” I exclaimed.

    “Lucy Reynolds is wanted by the police for questioning, following last night’s murder of the well-known gambler and millionaire Bob Collins. If you have any information about her whereabouts, please call the Las Vegas police department on…”

    I stopped reading. This couldn’t be real. I hadn’t murdered anyone. I put down the paper and lay back on my bed. Perhaps I was still dreaming. I tried dozing off again, when suddenly there was a loud banging on the bedroom door.

    “Police! Open up!”

    There are no police, I’m just dreaming. I reached for some headache pills and gently massaged my head. But the banging did not stop. I felt nervous, sweaty, achy and tired. But I had to open the door to be sure. Jessica was stirring in her bed.

    “You’re bed’s nearest.” she muttered.

    I got up, gingerly crept to the door and two burly police officers bust in.

    “Lucy Reynolds. We have a warrant for your arrest. You do not have to say anything…”

    I zoned out as they read me my rights. My knees gave way and I sank to the floor, faint from shock. The two officers lifted me back to my feet, handcuffed me and led me towards the door, amidst Jessica’s terrified screams.

    “Let her go! What are you doing? Where are you taking her?” she shrilled, loudly enough to wake everyone in the hotel that hadn’t already been awoken by the police officers’ incessant knocking.

    Hotel guests and the other members of our group raced to our room, as the officers calmly led me towards the elevator. My friends all joined in with Jessica’s screams.

    “Let her go! There’s been a mistake!”

    But the police officers replied blandly that they were merely doing their duty. On we went. Into the elevator. Trapped. Without my friends, accused of a murder I hadn’t committed. I was now all alone in a vast, crazy city.

  8. Coates

    When the man answered the door and introduced his self as a Lawyer, I knew this was the case I had been waiting for all my life. I was a travel writer/ photographer working with my Dad who was the lead detective on a thirty five year old murder.
    As we stepped into the room and found seats, I was surprised to see how bright, white it was with a big hospital bed in the middle of the floor. On the bed was a tiny little lady so small had she not been wearing pink you would not have seen her between the white sheets surrounded and propped up by huge white pillows. She she was so old and frail that she could have been anyone’s Grandmother.
    ‘This Lady doesn’t know anything about a murder.” I mumbled.
    My Dad shot me a sharp look.He and the other Detectives took out a notebook and pen.
    ” Let’s start at the beginning.” Said Dad.
    “Well, we were the last to move into this neighborhood”. The lady started talking.
    “After the woman across the street kids graduated, she divorced her husband.”
    ” He was a wife beater you know. ”
    “Years later the woman on that side became a widower,” she said pointing to the left.
    ” Her husband was a alcoholic,”
    ” He died.”
    “Well, the woman over there, her husband used to mow their lawns and shovel their driveway’s when he did his own.”
    “One day at a neighborhood meeting, his wife let those women know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t like it and they should hire someone .”
    “That’s when they started plotting her murder.”
    “How do you know?” I asked.
    “I heard them.” she said.
    “My bed used to be by the window over there, and I heard them.”
    “They would sit on the deck drink, laugh and talk about it.”
    .” You mean to tell me these model citizens got together and killed their neighbor because her husband was nice?”
    “In a word yes!”
    “There were no weapons found,” I said ignoring my Dad’s dirty looks.
    “The weapons were always there.”
    “Where!” I asked slightly louder than I had intended.
    “Their fist.” She said.
    Soooo the woman that used to live diagonally over there was beaten to death by her neighbors because her husband was too nice?” I asked again.
    “Yes.”She said again.”
    “All three of them got drunk or high or whatever they did , lured her into that yard on the pretense of apologizing to her and things got out of hand.”
    “You’re making this all up aren’t you?” I asked, my brain about to explode.
    I looked at her Lawyer, why wasn’t he advising her to remain silent?
    I looked at my Dad. All I’ve ever wanted was to work with him and make him proud of me.
    “First you said two women and now you’re saying three.”
    “Which is it?” I asked
    “There were definitely three.”
    “Where is the husband?” My Dad asked.
    Finally another voice in the room for a second there was only the lady and I talking.
    “He ran off with the woman around the corner but died two weeks later.” She said.
    ” Some say he died of a broken heart.”
    “He really loved his wife.”
    “What about the two women?” I asked.
    “Dead and dead.” The Lady said. Beside,
    “You keep saying two women , I never said two, there were three women,
    “Chrissy, Sherry, and Sandra Smith who moved changed her looks and her identity..” She said.
    I didn’t look at my Dad who was the only one in the room that knew my former name was Sandra Smith.
    “Why didn’t you tell someone thirty five years ago ?” I asked
    “It was none of my business.” The lady said.
    NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!” I shouted who are you people?
    “Why is it any of your business now?” I asked.
    “I need the reward for my burial expenses.” She said.
    “Listen.” My Dad said as he and the other Detectives begin to put away their pens, notebooks, and stand up.
    “Do you have any proof?” Dad asked. I think by now everyone thought she was as loonie as I did..
    “In the basement there’s a free…”
    Before she could finish everyone in the room ran downstairs except me and the Lady.She leaned back and fell asleep. I stepped into the hall to call my mom.
    ” Mom remember we were talking about the log on Sandra Smith and the paper doing an update on
    on that story?” I asked her.
    “Remember how we said that Sandra Smith was such a common name that no one would make the connection?”
    “Not again!” My Mom said.
    “Yes again I said.
    You’re a Lawyer so I need you to write me another letter saying that I’m not that Sandra Smith.”
    “You don’t need that letter.” Said the little old lady.
    “My name is Sandra Smith too.”
    Just then everyone came running upstairs.
    “WE FOUND THE EVIDENCE!” Someone shouted.

  9. cl91

    Groggily my eyes focus on the newspaper. It’s 10 a.m. and I feel like I’ve been hit by a freight train. I can’t even see that well yet, but I see good enough to notice my name on the front page of the newspaper….what the??? …..

    ‘WOMAN SOUGHT FOR QUESTIONING IN BRUTAL MURDER; police are looking for 30 yr. old Angela Bright in connection with a brutal murder that took place on Elm Street last night. The victim, 32 yr. old Devin Cole was found in a pool of blood. Details are sketchy at this time.
    If you know the whereabouts of Angela Bright please contact Clifton Police at 555-2121. This is a confidential line and your identity will be protected.’

    The paper slides out of my hand. What is going on? My head is spinning….Devin, dead? And someone thinks I did it?
    BAM BAM BAM…..”POLICE!!!!!! OPEN UP!!!!”
    The pounding on the door startles me and my first instinct is to run, but why would I do that? I didn’t kill Devin. I take a deep breath and blow it out. I will go with them to the police station and simply explain how I am not a killer.
    “OPEN UP, MS BRIGHT!!!”

    “Okay, Okay. Give me a minute, please. I’m not dressed.”

    I hurry around the corner to my bedroom, catching a glimpse of my disheveled long, dark curly hair and my face. I have dark circles under my eyes. I look like crap. I quickly change into a big t-shirt and slip on some jeans. My heart is racing as I pull my hair up in a messy dark pony tail.

    Taking a deep breath I open the door. Three large officers storm in and grab me, spinning me around and up against a wall, twisting my arm.

    “OUCHHHH….what are you doing????”

    A burly bald cop moves beside of me as my face is pressed against the wall, “you’re going downtown for questioning.”

    “ I know I’m going downtown but do you have to do this? I’m not even resisting,“ my voice cracks.

    The burly bald cop sneers and says, “we’re just making sure you are secure. We have to ensure our safety from killers.”

    He nods to the two others, who show me a paper and tell me it’s a search warrant, and I hear them rummaging through my things as the burly cop yanks my arms up and jerks me around.
    Pushing me out the door he shoves me into the police car and slams the door.

    I blink back tears as I see neighbors standing on their porches watching. All I can do is slink down in the seat.

  10. cosi van tutte

    And one last one…
    ***

    They said that I killed someone.
    No. That isn’t true.
    They said that I might have killed someone.
    No. That isn’t right.
    They asked me where I was at 7:49 last night.

    I told them that I was asleep.
    I told them that I was home.
    I told them that I was unaware of what happened.

    “Please I don’t know anything.”
    “Please don’t ask me anything.”
    “Please let me go home to mourn.”

    They told me that my bed was untouched.
    They told me that I was not at home.
    They told me to tell them what really happened.

    “I don’t know.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I don’t know.”

    I don’t know is the only thing I can think of to say to them.

    I wish that I could convince them that I am right.
    I wish that they would believe that they are wrong.
    I wish that I could be let off easy.

    As misunderstood.
    As innocent.

    But I am not innocent.
    I know it.
    And so do they.

  11. jwsalaz

    I let the door fly open, and raising my hands in the air. The police are here, and I don’t know what to do, but the AK-47 next to me explains things very nicely. Thy were going to find me anyways. But I didn’t do it. I am a spy for the US Government. Why I was exposed is the Government’s problem.

    I had sniper training, but I had not left the apartment for days. I was studying for a mission, and had my AK-47 at the ready along with the the dossier about the mark. Some people called me a loose cannon, and the powers that be wanted the President of South Africa, Nelson Mandela, dead. They wanted him assassinated. I had no choice in this. I just follow orders like I always do, especially if they are high profile. I knew that I would be jailed, and then eventually bailed out. In and out quickly. That’s all I wanted.

    Nelson Mandela, beloved by his country. I didn’t want to do it, but it needed to be done, because it was causing a democratic instability in the US. It’s not for me to say who lives and dies. It’s just for me to get the job done. Someone was assigned the same file that I had! Mandela was already a dead man. He was to be slaughtered without a care, and I had to do it.

    The cops kick down the door, pointing at the AK-47, with the dossier sitting next to it. I just stare as they put the cuffs. I was going to be bailed out. My profile had not been closed, especially since they wanted me to do the deed. But it was used as evidence to prove that I had been bought off by the government as a mercenary.

    I didn’t understand things as clearly as I used to. Perhaps the mark was already dead. That could not be possible because I would have told to evacuate my apartment, and use my fake ID’s to get to another US friendly country.

    I had not fulfilled the mission. And the cops felt justified in arresting me. I would be out by tomorrow. Or wouldn’t I?

        1. SkyFox

          JosephFrazzone I am very sorry to here this. I hope, pray and cross my fingers that the site will start working again, for it has many beautiful writers on it. Just keep trying? Maybe it will get better?

    1. Kerry Charlton

      Joseph, if they don’t fix it by next week, I’ll come get you and we’ll go there ourselves. If we capture the squirrell who runs the tredmill, they’ll have to replace him

  12. Lex Noël

    “Lavinia, open up!” They pound on the door. I’ve barricaded it, but it’s no use, sooner or later they’ll make their way in. They’ll come crashing in with their snarls and snares telling me I’ve done something that I haven’t. There’s a conspiracy against me.

    “Lavinia if you don’t comply we will come in by force and you won’t like the consequences,” they shout. Whether I comply or not, they always come in and there are always consequences.

    The paper is spread across the floor and there’s my name in dark bold print, “Lavinia McCoy found guilty of family massacre.” Ludicrous. It was all Sarah. It was all Sarah’s doing. It was all Sarah’s plan. She held the knife. She did the slicing. I’m the one that tried to convince her to stop, but she wouldn’t listen. After the slaughter she disappeared, as I feared she would, empty promises of sticking together. She left me in the lurch, covered in the blood of the innocent souls I tried to save.

    There is a jarring slam against the door. Two coppers, a nurse and Dr. Holt spill inside. Before I know it the coppers have flipped me on to my stomach and once again the cuffs bite into my wrists. They pull me up onto my feet and walk me out of the room and down the hall.

    “Vin this is the second time this month,” the nurse says to me as she walks in step with the coppers. She’s pretending to be concerned but I know she couldn’t care less. “You understand this means relocation?” I contort my face to look indifferent, but I know relocation means the third floor.

    “Name and condition, sir? For the report.” I hear one of the coppers ask as they push me into the car.

    “Lavinia McCoy,” said Dr. Holt. From the car window I can see the stunned copper’s face.

    “The girl who killed her family?” The copper asked. I can feel my blood rising. I’m want to claw their smug little faces off.

    “It was Sarah!” I scream, “Sarah is the murderer you want! Sarah slaughtered them in their sleep! I don’t belong on the third floor!” I begin banging my hands against the glass, but it’s useless. All they do is stare at me like I’m crazy.

    “Yes, Lavinia McCoy, paranoid schizophrenic and multiple personality disorder. High risk. Sometimes goes by the name of Sarah.”

  13. Reaper

    Keepsakes

    I should give up the paper. I really should. I’m probably one of five people in the city that still has the damn thing delivered. It’s a risk, an affectation. Still, I can’t give it up. I step over my guests to pick it up and bring it back in. I look over to their still forms again and smile. At least I didn’t disturb them.

    The front page is the same old crap. Russia is tired of our garbage, and we’ll end up irradiating the world between the two of us. The big egos yelling at each other. The companies sponsoring them trying to convince us we should care. Tired of it, I turn to the local section.

    High school sports, local art (if you can call it that,) and stuff to do on the weekend. Boring, who needs that in their life? Like I can’t entertain myself.

    So, I look at the police blotter. Damn it. Sometimes the universe leads us to the right place at just the right time. I’ve never had a day go bad, not after I brought guests home. This is terrible though. Have you ever looked into the paper and saw your name associated with a crime you didn’t commit? I never thought I would.

    Right there, in black and white, it says I robbed a bank. I read between the lines and realize they’re be coming for me. I look over at the guests and realize my luck is just getting worse. I really can’t let them be found here.

    Wouldn’t you know it? That’s the moment the cops decide to knock on my door. “Police, open up!” Yeah, yeah. Okay. I can figure this out. Where did I leave my bag?

    “Just a moment! I’m not decent. Oh… and I didn’t rob any bank!”

    I look around, where is it? I speak from the center of the room. It’s the only way this is going to work after all. There it is. The cop is shouting his lack of concern at my assurances.

    I kind of figured he would.

    Just like I expected him to tell me to come out or he’ll break down the door. I hope there are only two of them. I stand next to the door, knowing they expect me to be in the middle of the room. True to his words, the door shatters inward.

    Two of those big cops rush through. You know, the kind that eat too much red meat and spend hours at the gym? None of it on the treadmill. Guys that will leave muscled corpses before fifty. Anyway, they storm in.

    As I slide in behind them, the brains of the outfit spots my guests. They both aim guns, but it’s the brains that speaks. “They’re de…”

    I slide a needle into each of their steroid enhanced necks and depress the plungers. Thanking god there are only two of them. Look, I never said I didn’t commit any crime, just not some low rent bank job.

    I hate unexpected company.

  14. Tiandra

    Mrs. Ward

    I glanced at the crime log again, it was definitely me. I was being accused of embezzlement and a list of other federal crimes.

    I considered my options. Open the door and get arrested for a crime that I was innocent of, or make a run for it and become a wanted man. I took four long strides to the window to see if there were any more cars outside. Only a large black SUV parked out front.

    Embezzlement? Bullshit. I measured the distance from the fire escape to the alley across the street. If I left now, I could probably get a decent head start.

    Wait. Police? No. Embezzlement of this magnitude a was federal crime, the FBI would be at my door, not the NYPD.

    It was too late, two men stood in the doorway. I guess the knocking was a courtesy. One of them held one of those large semi-automatic rifles in his right hand.

    “Who are you? What do you want?” I asked.

    One of the men stepped forward. He turned to his colleague, “Shut the door.”

    I wiped my hands on my pants.

    “It’s okay Mr. Ward, we are not here for you. But would you be so kind as to tell us the whereabouts of your wife?”

    “My wife? Who are you?” No, really. Who the fuck were they?

    I thought about my wife. Two men with guns show up at our door searching for her, while at the same time I’m being accused of embezzlement. I decided in that moment that I didn’t know her that well after all. What did I really know about her? I met her three years ago while on vacation in St. Bart’s. We got married six months ago.

    “Your wife and I are old acquaintances, and I believe that she took my money.” His demeanor was disturbingly calm.

    “Your money?” Did she steal that money? She had access to my office, but my accounts were password protected. Then I remembered our lunch visits, she visited me at least once a week to have lunch.

    “Yes. I am listed on your client list as J.C Williams, Inc. When I learned of the embezzlement, and I found out who your wife was really working for, lets just say that it didn’t take long for me to figure it out.”

    Shit. J.C Williams, Inc. was the client my wife urged me take on. She vouched that it was an old friend who wanted to remain anonymous. I took on his accounts as a favor to her. I turned around and went into our bedroom. Our closet was split, her’s was on the left. I took a deep breath and opened the door. Everything was gone.

    My attorney sighed, “That’s a tall tale Mr. Ward. Look, you’ve already served 35 years. If you would just cooperate and tell us where the money really is, then the judge might consider reducing your sentence.”

  15. E.T. Nell

    Crime Log (Second Upload Attempt)

    “Sir.”

    I heard the voice of Chuck, my W.R.A.I.T.H., in my head while my hands explored the body of the woman I had met only a few hours ago. I chose to ignore him. This was not the first time he interrupted a pleasurable moment, and it was getting a bit old.

    “Sir,” he repeated, more insistent. Once again, ignored.

    “Oh Great Libidinous One! There is a situation developing that might interest you.” Chuck’s voice in my head was equal parts urgency and disgust. But I had no patience right now for his games. With a quick mental command I set him to ghost-mode. Chuck would be unable to speak in my head, and could only communicate with me through text imaging on my retinal display. Another quick command sent any incoming messages directly to a hidden folder, to be reviewed at a later time. I turned my full attention back to the woman in my arms.

    I can’t remember her name. We met at one of the handful of bars on Aether Colony, the floating Habitat suspended in the thick carbon dioxide atmosphere of Venus. Her frame wasn’t fully biological. There were obvious synthetic enhancements that must have cost her, or more likely, her numerous male suitors, a fortune. I didn’t care, though; not about her other partners, and certainly not about her enhancements, which were both aesthetic as well as enthusiastically functional. It had been a long week, and I needed a little escape, no matter how fabricated it was.

    A loud, metallic knock at the door broke our embrace. With a soft, wet pop our lips parted, a string of saliva still connecting us for a brief moment before snapping, along with our lust.

    “Police! Open up!”

    I looked at the woman in my arms with a wry smile.

    “Expecting company,” I teasingly asked. There was no laughter in her lavender eyes, however. Only fear. She shook her head no vigorously.

    “Patrick Covenant,” the voice boomed from outside the woman’s apartment. “You are wanted on charges of smuggling, assault, and impersonating a government official. We know you are in there. Come out peacefully.”

    “Well, shit,” I said, as I pushed myself off of her and began frantically dressing. The woman sat up in her bed, not bothering to cover her breasts, fear replaced with disgust. I looked at her as I pulled my shirt over my head.

    “So, is there a discounted rate for an interrupted session or–”

    “Get out,” she yelled, pointing angrily at her door.

    “I’ll wire you some credits for your trouble,” I smiled back. I grabbed my boots and left the room, not bothering to put them on.

    The woman’s penthouse overlooked a large marketplace, about ten meters below. It was lit with cold, blue electric light, the sun having set hours ago. As I opened the large window in her living room to search for an escape route, her front door burst open, and I found myself thrown to the ground and handcuffed.

    “I told you so,” Chuck’s voice again, this time all smug satisfaction.

    How did he override my command?

  16. Rolling Girl

    Lying on this giant tree branch I finally have time to think. To think how is it that in the span of only three days, I’m on the run for being wanted as the hacker who infiltrated the government’s computer system in assist of a robbery of 100 billion dollars.
    It was a weekday normal as any other. Wake up at 7:00am sharp, freshen up, get dressed, and sit down with my cup of freshly brewed coffee while I flip through the daily paper. Nothing in the news section interested me, but the crime log instantly caught my eye. Right there on the third row, fourth column, in black bolded letters printed the name Victoria Moore, my name. “Victoria Moore:  age 24, long auburn hair, brown eyes. Wanted for: hacking into government systems in aid of robbery”
    I couldn’t believe my eyes. Those were the exact description of my physical attributes but there’s no way I did any of that. I’m just a regular programmer for my gaming company Vexx, and that’s all I’ve been doing for the past 2 years. Just as I processed this overwhelming information, three loud knocks came from my level 3 apartment doors, “Police! Open up!”
    Imagining the things they would do to me if I was caught – for something that I didn’t even do – gave me enough adrenaline to think of a way to get the fuck out of there. I quickly and quietly ran to grab my sneakers, jacket, and a baseball cap. Then I grabbed my backpack which was already packed for an upcoming business trip and stuffed some snacks/foods in there. They knocked three more times, “Police! Open up the door Miss Moore or else we’re forcing our way in!” Finally grabbing my phone and laptop, I was out on my balcony. There were fire escape stairs going up and down the building, but hearing pounds from my door indicating they were breaking it in, I decided to just jump into the exposed garbage bin below.  The bags of garbage cushioned my fall. I heard shouting in my apartment just in time I climbed out of the garbage bin and ran down the alley way into the crowded streets, not once did I look back.

  17. Rolling Girl

    Lying on this giant tree branch I finally have time to think. To think how is it that in the span of only three days, I’m on the run for being wanted as the hacker who infiltrated the government’s computer system in assist of a robbery of 100 billion dollars.

    It was a weekday normal as any other. Wake up at 7:00am sharp, freshen up, get dressed, and sit down with my cup of freshly brewed coffee while I flip through the daily paper. Nothing in the news section interested me, but the crime log instantly caught my eye. Right there on the third row, fourth column, in black bolded letters printed the name Victoria Moore, my name. “Victoria Moore: age 24, long auburn hair, brown eyes. Wanted for: hacking into government systems in aid of robbery”

    I couldn’t believe my eyes. Those were the exact description of my physical attributes but there’s no way I did any of that. I’m just a regular programmer for my gaming company Vexx, and that’s all I’ve been doing for the past 2 years. Just as I processed this overwhelming information, three loud knocks came from my level 3 apartment doors, “Police! Open up!”

    Imagining the things they would do to me if I was caught – for something that I didn’t even do – gave me enough adrenaline to think of a way to get the fuck out of there. I quickly and quietly ran to grab my sneakers, jacket, and a baseball cap. Then I grabbed my backpack which was already packed for an upcoming business trip and stuffed some snacks/foods in there. They knocked three more times, “Police! Open up the door Miss Moore or else we’re forcing our way in!” Finally grabbing my phone and laptop, I was out on my balcony. There were fire escape stairs going up and down the building, but hearing pounds from my door indicating they were breaking it in, I decided to just jump into the exposed garbage bin below. The bags of garbage cushioned my fall. I heard shouting in my apartment just in time I climbed out of the garbage bin and ran down the alley way into the crowded streets, not once did I look back.

    1. Amyithist

      Of course it had to be snowing out. Wasn’t that always the way? You make plans and Mother Nature fucks them up? Crotchety old bitch.

      I turned from the window, my sourpuss face deepening at the sight of the soggy morning paper leaking all over the table. I can’t begin to guess how it got inside but I didn’t care at the moment. I was exhausted. Something about last night wasn’t boding well with me, but I couldn’t place the eerie feeling.

      I grabbed my cup of coffee from the counter and sniffed at the rich aromas wafting. The scent triggered a sense of calm and I felt myself begin to relax a little. The stiffness in my upper back and arms was still very real but it wasn’t as bad as it had been when I first woke.

      I caught a glimpse of the cloud-choked sky outside and the giant flakes slipping from one embrace to another. Despite my plans being sabotaged, I decided it wasn’t so bad to be stuck at home. I could read. Maybe do a little work around the house. God knew it needed to be done.

      Sighing, I plopped down in the old orange backed chair I’d “inherited” from my grandmother when she passed and grabbed the sopping paper.

      Brently Cliffs was a small town. Not much happened; not even on Friday nights. Still, it was worth a few laughs to check the police logs and see how the men in blue killed their time.

      I slogged through the drenched pages, surprised the ink was still holding, until I saw the log. Short little paragraphs arranged in sloppy columns lined the second-to-last page. I scanned through. Mr. Garrison’s prized cow ended up in Preston Lane’s turnip fields again last night. No charges. Archibald Crow escaped the Brently Cliff’s Retirement Village on his scooter and was later apprehended by police. He was urinating in Mrs. Folston’s garden when they found him. He was confused and disoriented but otherwise in good condition. No charges.

      Then I saw a rather long entry. Which was odd because very rarely did the log have anything that took up more than a few lines. But this was nearly an entire page. Centered in the middle in bold lettering was the following:

      Police seeking information leading to the arrest of Willard Dicks. Willard eluded police after breaking out of the Saint Mary Mental Asylum and beating an unidentified man to death in an alley located near Harv’s Hardware. Upon investigation, the hardware store had been broken into and several items were taken, including a carpeting hammer, which is believed to be the murder weapon. Willard is 6’3” with short black hair and a large, muscular build. He is considered armed and dangerous and should not be approached. Please call Sheriff Mosely if you have any information.

      I dropped the paper back to the table. That was impossible! I’ve lived in this house since I was a little boy! They had to have the wrong guy…

      I jumped from the sticky vinyl and charged through the house. Everything looked familiar…or at least, vaguely familiar. It had been a while since I’d been home but it wasn’t because I was locked up in some looney bin! No…no, there had to be another explanation.

      I reached the top of the stairs and stared down the hallway. My father’s door was slightly ajar and from the sliver of grey sunlight, I could see a slipper clad foot against the dusty hardwood.

      Last night slammed into focus with unrelenting clarity in that moment. I remembered scaling the fence and dropping down the snowy field below. The fat nurse they’d just hired for night watch had fallen asleep at the station and I managed to sneak her keys from the desk.

      Yes, it was clear now. The void in my head was starting to fill as details seeped through. I remembered the hardware store. I remembered the unfortunate vagabond who’d tried to stop me on my way out. I remembered coming home; standing on the stoop, a flood of porch light blinding me from the gaping face of my father. My father…

      The man who when I was a child had beaten me bloody. The man who drank all night and slept all day and missed every milestone I’d ever had… The man who sent me to that damned mental hospital after my mother died of a heart attack; claiming that I would talk to myself and threaten violence… That last part was true. I was nuts. But that was his doing, not mine.

      So I came home. Then what?

      He’d been drunk. I could smell the rum coming off of him. His eyes were hooded beneath the veil of alcohol. Seeing him for the first time in twenty years ignited me.

      I remembered dragging him upstairs. Throwing him in the bedroom. Slamming the door shut as he cursed me. Cursed the day I was born. Cursed the years he wasted being a father. A husband. He cursed it all.

      And I swung my hammer until there was nothing left of his head. What comes around, huh?

      I lingered at the top of the stairs for a moment longer. The voices in my head were shrieking. I was feeling loose and out of control and in desperate need of the little green pill.

      When I heard the thunderous pounding against the front door, I smiled. “That’s them,” I said aloud. The voices swelled. My head swam. But I’d lived with the illness for long enough that it didn’t bother me anymore. Or did it? I couldn’t remember.

      I walked downstairs and pulled the door open. I realized for the first time I was stark naked. And soaked in blood. So much for pleading innocent.

      1. Kerry Charlton

        This was a fascinating and fast read. All internal thoughts. I haven’t done a story that way but yours is damn near perfect. The only reason I don’t know for sure is I’m not smart enough to know. Give me the magic you used to post in the first place. Does it involve vampire blood or voo doo?.

  18. SkyFox

    Oh goody!
    I felt a smile stretch over my face, but quickly schooled it into blankness.
    I flicked my fingers, scratched at the hard matress.
    In 3…in 2…in 1.
    A bone chilling scream echoed through the air, managing the pierce the thick stone walls.
    A babble of words as the smack of boots filled the air.
    “I swear I didn’t do this!”
    Curious faces drifted to the window, ghosts peeking out of the window.
    “You have to believe me!”
    A flash and the figures came into view. Her, her blond hair flying, skinny little feet kicking at the ground, blue eyes wild, fractured.
    Two cops, gripping her arms, their navy blue uniforms pressed in clean, their mouths pulled into grim lines. They dragged her past the doors, blank eyes staring at her. Probably to drugged up to care.
    She struggled, kicking at their shins and stomachs.
    The one with the fluffy blond hair smacked her, the rawness of it echoing in the air.
    Her desperate eyes scanned the empty faces at the door, pleading.
    She looked through mine.
    I gave her a little wave, waggling my fingers.
    “It was her! Please sh-shes always hated me and…”
    The one with the mustache snapped at her, his voice stern but quiet.
    “One more word and I’ll be forced to gag you.”
    Her voice trailed away, going limp in their arms, making tiny whimpering noises.
    With a jerk they dragged her around the corner, vanishing out of sight.
    I stood with careful movements, limbs cracking. I walked to my metal table-of course drilled to the ground-and picked up a scrap of paper, the material rough in my hands.
    “Sarah Hunt”
    “Aged 14”
    “Accused of breaking and entering, arson and murder.”
    “Information needed.”
    I smiled and let it drop to the ground.
    It was too easy.
    A photo, found in the offices desk. A vent extracted, leading to the outside. Clothes, in the laundry room.
    The bitch shouldn’t have eaten my cake.
    After all, it was my tenth birthday,double digits considered.

  19. reidmeister

    Getting On The Wrong Side

    He thought it was just a simple mistake, but the papers read differently and the police kept knocking at the door.

    “Open up, scumbag!” one shouted. They were ready to kick in the door and there was no time to barricade it.

    ‘Have I been framed?’ he thought to himself. ‘I don’t know how to hold a gun.’

    The police weren’t sure to buy it, so he had to act fast. Then he remembered there was a loose floorboard in the dining room, big enough to hold him for as much time as he needed it. He wasted no time in prying loose the floorboard and sank beneath the wooden chambers.

    He heard the crack of the door open and several heavy footsteps pounding the floor above him. He couldn’t see very well through the cracks, but it appeared one of them was a SWAT member. The footsteps kept moving away then close again then away. Suddenly, he hear someone yell, “He’s not here!”

    “He has to be,” another cried out. “Keep checking around.”

    The footsteps echoed on the wooden floors. He had to cover his ears to avoid the loud noise. The footsteps kept moving away and then back towards him again.

    “Nothing, sir,” one shouted out. He heard something fire above him and a sudden thud crashed above him. One of the fingers found its way through the cracks, all covered in blood.

    “That’s what you get for being empty-handed,” the other shouted.

    Now he was trapped with a body above the floorboard and no way to get out. He hadn’t planned for someone to get murdered inside his own house, and he thought he was the one being framed for murder.

    “Let’s see what happens when the police get hold of this,” one said loudly.

    What the? They weren’t police? If that were the case, he would have to find another way out of the floorboard and a dead body was certainly not going to help him.

    So he felt around for something loose, and he found that one of the wooden chambers was starting to collapse. He waited til the footsteps disappeared and the sound of the door slamming shut before he pried at the collapsed frame and the wooden floorboards next to him broke through.

    He rushed above the floorboards and out through the back door and over the fence. Now he was a man on the run and he had to find a way to prove his innocence.

  20. Kerry Charlton

    MIKE HAMMER’S REVENGE

    PART TWO

    Sam Spade had nothing to loose, the Fat man had been tried for murder and received a ten to twenty. On the otder hand, New York’s DA scheduled to try Miss Wonderly for murder of Sam’s partner as well as conspiracy. So the meeting between Sam and Mike Hammer with Angus Lockup, New York’s DA, was an unlikely match. However Mike had discovered a flaw, Angus, the DA was power hungry and putting
    away Big Jake with a crooked commissioner would make Angus a political fortune.

    The New York Times’ headline screamed the next week,

    ‘District Attorney releases murder suspect Ruth Wonderly with only five thousand dollar bond. New York in uproar, calls for firing DA.’

    A meeting was arranged between Ruth, Sam and Mike in an obscure walk up bar in Harlem, called the It’ll Do Club.

    Ruth sat across from the two detectives, her aura filled the room and Mike had to fight off the desire to sweep her off her feet. ’No wonder, Miss Wonderly was such a powerful villain. Even I‘m starting to fall,’ Mike thought. Sam feigned no response to Ruth but Mike saw the look in his eyes.

    “Doll face,” Sam said, “you want to be free to go your evil ways, then team up with us to get Big Jake.”

    “I thought you said you’d wait for me, forever if need be.”

    “Two can play your game, vixen. I just thought it was the polite thing to say at the time.”

    Mike almost choked on that line, ’God, what a crummy actor Sam Spade would make.’

    Mike interrupted the two,

    ‘You two can hash old memories but not on my time. Here’s the pitch Ruth. Dee Dee and Mike, Effie and I will escort you to Jake’s place. We’ll introduce you, you be the third woman.

    “You’re crazy if you think I can entice that sleaze bag.”

    “Hell Ruth, you could make a dead Indian hard and you know it. Otherwise it’s twenty years in the slammer. Which is worse?”

    “Okay, okay, just don’t push me, let me think.”

    ‘Since when did you think?’ Mike Hammer thought. ‘ You’re kind of woman, double dealing murderess, maybe Big Jake will waste you, not much of a loss to humanity.’ Mike was feeling the pain all over again from Mona Marie. ‘What a beauty to have to die with six pieces of lead from my gat.’

    Sam saw the effects of Mike fighting signs of remorse,

    “Remember Mike,” San issued, “either it’s the quick or the dead. And you’re still alive Don’t lose your edge now, you’re so close.”

    “Okay boys,” Ruth said, “I’ll go for it. So lay it out for me. If I don’t like it, you’ll have to change our deal. Savvy guys?”

    “Agreed,” they said. “Lets get down and dirty. That’s the only way Big Jake is going to turn cold..”

      1. Zenzo

        Mine wouldn’t too. The first attempt it simply disappeared, and the second attempt it’s just forever sitting there “awaiting moderation”.

      2. Kerry Charlton

        Let’s try this way.We’re going to fool the writer’s digest bug, clever us.
        Well, that didn‘t work, we‘ll try this #$%%*^%#.

        MIKE HAMMER’S REVENGE

        SECTION ONE OF THREE

        Mike chose his footing carefully while trudging up the dingy four flights to his walkup overlooking ‘Hell’s Kitchen. A bullet in his left thigh and one to his rib cage, from a slinky blonde named Mona Marie, had left him bitter memories, despite her sexual perversions. Three weeks in a run down hospital didn’t improve his disposition. He should have known better but didn’t. The after glow of filling her body full of lead seemed to ease the pain some.

        Inside his secretary waited with a copy of a police report, he begrudgingly scanned.

        “What is this all about Dee Dee?”

        “They‘re suspicious about your story of Mona Marie‘s connections to Big Jake and have an AP out on you.”

        “Damn, so that‘s what the tail‘s all about.”

        “Cool it Mike, you know you‘re clear.”

        “Yeah, probably but Big Jake has connections, police commissioner connections.”

        “Your hear that stomping up the stairs Dee?”

        “Yep, fuzz is a comin’.”

        Four hours later, Mike left the precinct office, free on his own recognizance. Big Jake ran drugs, girls, numbers and protection in Hell’s Kitchen since the early thirties. The depression only made him stronger, Payoff, booze and broads kept the police away, including Mel Harrison, the commissioner.

        ‘I’ll have to bring him down myself’, Mike thought, ‘but how?’

        Jake ran his operation out of The Easy Sixes, a club located in an old wharf on the Hudson River. Safe and off limits to the police, the club emulated everything grotesque Hell’s Kitchen had to offer. One difference only, customers knew they were okay and that meant a lot to New York’s elite. Mike had been there many times in the mid thirties, now the war was on, New York turned it’s attention to more pressing matters.

        Mike finally realized his plan was flawed and called his best friend,

        Effie answered Sam’s phone,

        “He’s not in Mike, he still mooning over Miss Ruth and took some time off, but I will tell him you called“

        ‘It‘s no wonder,’ Mike thought. ‘Sam took down the “Fat Man and Ruth Wonderly with him. God what a piece of double dealing, wanton woman.’.

        Two days went by, with Mike healing fast, almost to normal. Sam called and they arranged a meeting.

        “You old buzzard,” Mike said, “you finally over your tryst?”

        “You’re a fine one to talk Mike, at least I didn’t let her plug me twice.”

        “Ouch, it still hurts.”

        “Your ass or your pride?”

        “A little of both, maybe. Enough of this, are you interested in taking Big Jake down?”

        “You and what army?”

        “I am serious Sam.“

        “You have a death wish Mike or just insane?”

        Neither, but I do have a plan.”

        To Be Continued

        1. Brian A. Klems Post author

          No idea why it’s flagging you (and a handful of faithful others) as spam. I’m trying to catch them all. There was a security update and it seems to be overly protective. Anyway, don’t panic if your post doesn’t show up right away. I will get them up.

          If only real spammers weren’t so terrible that we didn’t need such extreme measures. You’d die if you saw how many real spam messages we get each day.

          Brian

          1. Kerry Charlton

            Brian, I don’t think I want your job. Anyway, I appreciate all your efforts to help us. We’re a frenzy of writers that want to keep posting each week.As far as myself, this is the best thing since sliced bread! Well, almost!

    1. ReathaThomasOakley

      Kerry, great continuation. I could see, and hear, each of them. It’s been years since I’ve read a Mike Hammer, but I think you’ve nailed the banter. Looking forward to more.

      1. Kerry Charlton

        Thanks Reatha, I’m working on part three. I’ll try to post it but if the site’s still down I will post to my blog. Thanks for staying during this crazy post time. What magic are you using?

      1. Kerry Charlton

        Thank you Beebles, I love the forties more than any other time. Of course, I was a kid, I knew the war was on but I thought air raid drill and blackouts in Philadelphia, were a grand time. This is what kids think. Don’t believe I’ve forgotten.

      1. Kerry Charlton

        Thank you John, high compliment. Maybe we should take a collection for Writer’s Digest to buy a new computer. Their squirrel driven motor is worn out.

  21. Zenzo

    Sorry if it’s a double post, previous post didn’t appear somehow. Does it happen to anyone else? My first post by the way, please criticize!

    What are the chances of someone sharing the same name as me, living in the same suburb, and… a serial murderer? I looked at the papers again, and saw my photo underneath the shocking report. What in the world…

    “Police! Open up!”

    No way. This can’t be real. I pinched my arms hard. Not a dream.

    “I know you’re in there. Open up right now!”

    A dozen of thoughts flashed through my mind. Should I remain quiet? Should I open the door and explain that I am innocent? Should I… Wait a minute, don’t tell me… John?

    Bang! The door flew open and next thing I knew a gun was in my face.

    “Hang on officer, I didn’t do anything!”

    “You can explain yourself when you get to the station, now put your hands up where I can see them.” He removed the handcuffs from his belt with one arm while the other remained holding the pistol that was only a few inches from my face.

    “Explain what? I don’t even know what the hell I’m arrested for!”

    “Don’t make it harder than it should be.”

    By the time I knew what was happening, my body had already started moving by itself. In a blink of an eye, I had stepped to the side of the cop and was holding the gun barrel with one arm, and the other arm about to strike him in the face.

    And then I blacked out.

    A stench of blood woke me up. I was standing upright in my basement, with a pistol in my hand. Blood was dripping down the pistol grip. A sense of fear overwhelmed me as I looked down towards where my peripherals first caught a splatter of red. The cop was on the floor, face disfigured, skull dented in. It appeared that his face had been continually smashed in by a blunt object. The pistol grip, apparently.

    I fell on my knees, face buried in my hands, whole body involuntarily trembling. What the phuck
    just happened?! Why have I no memory of it?!

    After what seemed to be forever, I finally plucked up some courage to look up, only to be welcomed by an even more horrifying scene: there was another dead body in the corner of my basement – a body of a naked woman in her twenties. Her dead eyes were wide open and staring right at me, her mouth the same, appearing to be screaming grudge in silence.

    In the midst of my despair, a voice came from nowhere. “Well done Jason, he was going to do us in. Good thing we got rid of him. Hehehe…”

    “Who’s there?!” I screamed out loud as I looked around frantically.

    “What do you mean who? Your best friend John of course. Have you forgotten me already?”

    “No… this can’t be real. You were gone long ago. The psychiatrist said that you would never appear again.”

    “Nonsense. I got bored of you feeling sorry for yourself all the time so I decided to sit back and observe you for awhile. Until the damned prostitutes showed up of course. Those sluts are the same as your mother! Your wretched mother who sold her soul for money, and ditched you when she found a rich man to marry. They deserved it, they all deserved it!”

    “No… no…” I buried my face in my hands and broke down crying.

    “Don’t worry Jason, we will disappear somewhere and start afresh again. Just let me take control, I will protect us don’t you worry. Hehehe…”

    THE END

    1. madeindetroit

      This is an awesome first post. Loved your take on the prompt. You did a great job conveying the emotion of your MC. Loved how you handled the split personally of a serial killer.

      Great first.post!

        1. Kerry Charlton

          I echo madeindetroit comments. Welcome to our forum, we need more writers like you. The story was smooth, tension high, reveal at the correct timing. Wow! what a first post. Yyou beeen hiding this talent somewhere?

          1. Zenzo

            Thanks for your kind words Kerry, they are uber encouraging! My talent…? Buried deep underneath my insecurities, if I have any to begin with. Long way to go before I reach your level of creativity!

  22. cosi van tutte

    And just for the fun of it….

    ***

    She fiddled and twiddled with the string of crystals. “Oh, but you don’t think he’ll get mad, do you?”

    Ethel arched a penciled-in eyebrow. “What do you think?”

    “Well…” She fiddled with the crystal necklace some more. “You know, he would never buy them for me.”

    “Yeah?”

    “I’ve asked him every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday for them.”

    “What about Sunday?”

    “Oh, I couldn’t ask him then. That’s the Lord’s Day.”

    “That’s true.”

    “And he never once said that he’d think about it. I’ve given him plenty of suggestions and plenty of time and well. Sometimes a girl just has to take things into her own hands.”

    “Well, you sure took that into your hands and walked out the door with it.”

    She held it up to the light. “But just look at that sparkle!” She brought it back down. “Say, he doesn’t even have to know about it. I don’t have to tell him, right?”

    “Wellll…”

    “And if he finds it, I’ll just say that you got it for me since he never did.”

    “Wellll…Oh, but that will never work! You know that my husband’s every bit as stingy as yours and your husband knows it. He would never believe my husband would give me the okay.”

    “Okay, but we’ll just say that you bought it behind his back.”

    “Oh, really? And get me into trouble with that sour face? No thanks.”

    “Thanks a lot for your support.”

    Ethel took the necklace and looked it over. “Mmm, it sure is a nice one. Say! Can I borrow this for tonight?”

    “Tonight? Whatever for?”

    “I’m going to my canasta party with the other girls and I want to wow them with this number.”

    “I don’t know. It seems kind of risky.”

    “I’ll give it right back when I get home.”

    “Well. Okay.” She handed over the necklace. “Just be sure that you don’t lose it.”

    “Oh, I won’t.” Ethel put the necklace in her pocket and left the room.

    She closed the necklace box and stuffed it under the sofa’s cushion. “Oh, I sure hope she takes good care of it. I’d hate to have to steal another one.” She sat down on the sofa and picked up the newspaper.

    “Hmm. Hmm. Hmm. Same old news. Just look at these lurid headlines. ‘Housewife steals priceless necklace from Tiffany’s’.” He mouth dropped open in shock as she recognized the picture of the criminal. “Oh, dear!”

    The front door swooshed open and her husband entered the room. “Luuuucy! You got’s some ‘splainin to do.”

    1. ReathaThomasOakley

      Cosi, you’ve captured speech patterns and word usages really well. While still in recovery I’m watching lots of old, classic, TV. I’m finding 50s and 60s more enjoyable than 70s and 80s.

        1. Kerry Charlton

          Put me there also. Fred would have a heart attack and Desi has his hands full with Tiffany’s and Lucy. I enjoyed this a lot, takes me back forever. Well. Not quite, there’s still the Honeymooners.

  23. Rolling Girl

    My first time posting here, but it won’t let me :c

    I’ve tried posting multiple times and looked all over the website for a help section for a solution but couldn’t find any.

    I’m sorry if this is the wrong place to ask for help, but can anyone help out? Thank you.

  24. dedewitt

    Everyone could tell Tony apart from his twin brother, Stephan – except for the police.
    It was normal for Stephan to disappear for days at a time, so Tony had thought nothing of it. He didn’t miss talking to his brother. He wasn’t interested in hearing about his brother’s weekend on a celebrity yacht, or the latest supermodel he was dating, or how he was promoted yet again at the international company he worked for. Some called it jealousy, but Tony considered it injustice; even as the more moral and upright of the two, he had the worst luck between them.
    Today proved it.
    “Tony! The usual? Turkey and swiss, dry?”
    He sighed. “No. I’m done with turkey. I’m done with swiss. I’m done with dry. Why is this my life, James?”
    James glanced at the line of hungry customers. “That’s more of a question to ask a therapist. Or bartender. Maybe not a deli guy during lunch break.”
    “I’m done with it all.” Tony continued, not listening. “Give me something unexpected. Give me something satisfying. Give me something that will change my life for the better, James.”
    James stared blankly. “I mean, I got prosciutto…”
    Giving a confirming nod, he sat down to wait for his food. He started to remove the leftover newspapers on the table until something caught his eye.
    His brother’s picture. But Stephan’s name wasn’t written next to it – Tony’s was.
    Tony scanned the article, muttering to himself.
    “Embezzlement? Fraud? Armed robbery…?”
    Unfortunately for Tony, the two cops sitting at the next table over had seen the same article.
    “Tony!” James yelled from the counter, “Your unexpected life change is ready!”
    Before Tony could stand, the cops had approached his table. The more muscular of the two leaned over and put a hand on the table. “Mind if we talk a minute, Sir?”
    Tony figured he was probably a good guy, and didn’t have anything against cops. But he didn’t want to talk to him. He knew what would happen. He would be a cordial citizen – he would go down to the station, answer all their questions, and then he’d somehow end up in jail serving his brother’s sentence. It happened with time-outs as a kid. It happened with detention in high school. But it wasn’t going to happen to him as an adult. He couldn’t take it anymore.
    If being the good brother brought him bad luck, it was time to try something else.
    He regretted flipping the chair and running out the back door as soon as he did it.
    Stupid, they have guns. They can run faster than you. Stephan took Taekwondo. You took violin lessons. I’m going to die, I’m going to die…
    He sped down the back alley, cutting through the park to a busy intersection. There was oncoming traffic, but he couldn’t just stand there. He dove into it, ignoring the horns and screeching tires as he ran.
    A red sports car pulled in front of him, cutting him off from crossing.
    “Tony! Get in!”
    It was Stephan.

    1. ReathaThomasOakley

      I still think Tony shouldn’t trust Stephan. I liked the exchange between Tony and James, prosciutto could change a life, I suppose. Nicely done.

    2. cosi van tutte

      Hi, dedewitt!

      Just so you know, I love this exchange:

      “Give me something unexpected. Give me something satisfying. Give me something that will change my life for the better, James.”
      James stared blankly. “I mean, I got prosciutto…” 😆

  25. jhowe

    I read the Kalamazoo Gazette every day even though I can pretty much get the same news on line more conveniently. There’s something about holding the actual newspaper in my hands that appeals to me. This morning, toward the bottom of the first page, a headline reaches out and demands my attention.

    Well-endowed man holds up bank with penis.

    As I eagerly read the story I nearly gag when I see my name, and then in the continuation on page two, my picture. It’s a grainy security shot of me, or my exact double, leaving the First National Bank naked with a large duffle bag strategically placed over my mid-section.

    My breathing becomes raspy and my hands shake when there is a loud knock at the front door. I panic and run to the back door and throw it open. Two uniformed cops stand with a woman in a blue pant suit. She isn’t half bad.

    “Mr. Dixon?” she says. I nod. “I’m detective Chase from KPD.” Her brown eyes drill into mine. “You’re under arrest for the robbery at First National on Gull Road.”

    An officer cuffs me as Chase reads me my rights. The trip downtown is quick and silent. No one speaks a word. As soon as we’re in the interview room, I spout forth.

    “It wasn’t me, I swear.”

    “Oh, ok,” she says. “I should just let you go then?”

    “You’re letting me go?”

    “Of course not.” She rolls her eyes. “We have witnesses and your picture all over the surveillance cameras.”

    “But I have an alibi.”

    “I’m listening.”

    “What time was the hold-up?” I say.

    “Yesterday at 3:37 PM.”

    “I was driving home from work.”

    “Was anyone with you?”

    “No.”

    “Did you stop anywhere, use a credit card?”

    “No.”

    “I hate to say it Mr. Dixon, but you don’t have an alibi.”

    “But I didn’t do it.” I squirm. “Anyway, I’d never hold up a bank with my… you know.”

    “Will you submit to taking part in a line-up with the witnesses present?”

    “Yes, anything. I didn’t do it.”

    A voice crackles through cheap speakers. “Turn to the left.”

    We turned. “Face forward and drop you pants.”

    As one, we hesitate. I’m astounded to see a man that could be my twin.

    “Do it now,” the voice says.

    Back in the interview room: “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” Chase says. “You’re free to go.”

    “Really? Just like that?”

    “Yes, Mr. Dixon, you can go.”

    “What happened,” I say. “Did you catch the guy that did it?”

    “I shouldn’t say, but yes, we did.” She looks at me. “Did you know you look exactly like Johnny Ram, the porn star?”

    “Well,” I blushed. “I suppose I don’t but I’m flattered you noticed.”

    “Don’t be; he has you by five inches.”

    1. Kerry Charlton

      Oh, this is classic John! Chucked from the first paragraph thru the last. A stoke of genius comedy here. Film it and you”ll be a star. I havent seen this post before, probably Brian tracked it down and got it on here like he did mine. Maybe next week, we won’t have to worry about it. Who knows?

  26. Pete

    I don’t know what I have here, needs some work but I don’t like it enough to do it….

    They found us.

    Eventually, after I text the news station with leads and emailed the papers from his phone. But what was I supposed to do? Things were moving slow and I needed to quicken the pace. That Amber Alert did the trick though. Should have thought of that sooner.

    They banged on the door—“Police!”—a bit pissy about things after getting lambasted online. I was nearly giggling because it took the imbeciles four tries to get the tissue thin door down. I know the cops are skittish these days, but come on guys, put a shoulder into it.

    You’ll have to excuse me, by the way, my respect for law enforcement sort of plummeted when they said my sister asked for it.

    Now here they come, all balls and glory. I assume the position on the blood stained mattress I’d yanked from one of the bedrooms.

    I whip up tears and even piss myself for good measure. I swear, lolling my head around, my eyes back in my skull, I feel myself really getting into character, I even like, feel abused and traumatized. Law & Order shit, you know? All thanks to Chris, my drama teacher.

    Who knew I was so talented? But I had to be for this thing to work. Hallie helped, and the rest just sort of happened. Me staying back with Chris, behind the stage in the dark. Then a sweet little kiss, just like with Hallie.

    Now look at him, over there, clammy and mumbling, the fucker. The cops manhandle him, taking out their frustration with a knee in his back, a kick to the ribs. Not going to duck your way out of this one, pretty boy.

    Not so smooth now, are we? My sister gets called a whore and you walk? I watch as they drag him through the room. “No. No. It’s her, it’s her. She’s brought me here. Tell them Stacey, please!”

    Tell them what? That I drugged you? Shot your veins up with enough smack to keep you tweaking for days. No, let’s not. Oh, and watch where you’re drooling.

    A detective kneels down, afraid to touch me.

    “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

    Do I feel a slight tinge of remorse for this? Ask me later. Because my sister is sitting in a treatment center in Maryland because of this douche. He had it coming.

    They continue fawning over me. Blanket over the shoulders and all of that. Outside they shield Poor Chris doesn’t get the VIP treatment. Not by the way they chunk him in the back of that squad car. Abduction. Indecent liberties. Heroin. He has a long road ahead of him.

    I nearly smile as they put me in that Suburban. Instead I bite my lip. For nearly a year we’d planned this, one visit at a time. And the fact that Chris came on to me only meant that he would keep it up until he got caught.

    So there. He got caught.

  27. Alexandria Cherry

    School’s Out for the Teacher

    His jeans were pressed, his shirt tucked, and he was proud that he had accomplished this all by himself. First day of Pre-K and I was impressed. We were doting parents; this was the day we anticipated and dreaded all at the same time. The first week or so went great, and then everything changed.
    My little super learner was not so eager to learn; at least not at the school. Being the creative parents we were, we equipped his belt buckle with a camera. There was nothing the first trial, but on the third day- there it was!
    That smiling face that greeted parents at the door changed, once the teacher had taken role. She was recorded yelling at students to the point of tears, not allowing lunch to those who had “accidents”; and using physical force to move frightened children.
    We were disgusted by what we saw, and knew that action needed to be immediate. We knew what we should have done, but the memories of being bullied as a child overwhelmed me. So I bought cupcakes for the entire class and one very large cupcake for the teacher.
    I assured my child that things would change in more ways than one and that he should no longer fear going to school after that day. To make sure that the mission was completed, I offered to stay and help with distribution and clean up. As she took that final bite, I could feel the pain and burn in my cheeks from the Chestshire grin that I displayed. I helped to clean up the crime scene- although not yet ready to make its grand entrance- and took my little one home.
    I purposely changed his clothes; accidently leaving the shorts with the belt neatly folded on his class table. She was alone gloating on how mean she planned to be the following day, when the perpetrator jumped in to attack! Stabbing, and twisting her all around the room; ripping her insides until she fell to her knees. And with a final blow, she was unable to fight it! She stopped moving.
    And then…. “BAM!”
    Explosive diarrhea from the triple dose of laxative I mixed in with the candies on her cupcake! She only had enough sanity to dial 911! Yes! I did it and explained myself in the evidence letter written in the card that sat by the box her cupcake once sat! I also explained the camera attachment to my child’s belt that we as a family watched from home.
    The officer’s only came to my home to personally return my child’s clothing and to update me on what criminal actions filed against the teacher!

      1. Alexandria Cherry

        Thank you so much! This is the first thing that I have written publicly. I am working on a project. Are you willing to read it? It is non fiction but I believe that it would make for a seminar for graduating high school seniors going to college.

        1. ReathaThomasOakley

          Hello Alexandria,
          It’s fun to see our work in print, so to speak, isn’t it? You mention a nonfiction project. Before retiring most of my writing was in the form of press releases, grant applications, brochures, annual reports, presentations, etc. Perhaps you could find a way to make your point using the prompt each week. For example, if you wanted make seniors aware of the “freshman fifteen”, you could use this week’s prompt to start a story, a classic way to introduce a topic in an article or presentation, by making it personal.

          Don’t know how to do italics, plus the story is lame, but just to illustrate:

          “I’m so guilty,” Kim blurted before she could stop herself.

          “What is it now?” Her roommate Shea looked up from her iPad. Kim really was a drama queen.

          “Here, right here, front page, black and white. I’ve broken every nutrition rule known to man, or my mother. Even this illustration of a girl with bagel lips and pizza hips could have my name on it. Sooo guilty,” Kim wailed.

          Alexandria, I believe each writer should find her own unique “voice”, so I rarely make suggestions on how others should change their work. I don’t write directly “in the box”, but use iPad Notes. There I edit, read aloud, get a word count, etc., before I post. I think we can become our own best editors. Also, on the WD homepage there are lots and lots of articles I’ve found helpful. The best on your project. Keep writing.

  28. MichaelPerry

    Sorry about the length….

    MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOOSE

    The sergeant sitting on the other side of the desk thumbed through the police report. His grey eyes darted back and forth between the pages while his face remained expressionless. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties. He had a thin crop of white hair and vermilion-covered cheeks (from too much sun or too much alcohol). Wire-rimmed reading glasses hung on the tip of crooked nose. Just like the last time I found myself in this position, I reminded myself to invite him to my next poker game—if I could keep my stupid ass out of jail.

    When he completed his review of the report, he closed the folder. “Well, Mr. Glanz,” he said nodding in my direction, “and Miss Jenkins, this is quite a story.”

    “Call me Harry,” I said. “I hope—”

    “—and call me Amber Lynn,” she said, fluttering her dazzling blue eyes at the sergeant.

    “Good luck with that, sweetheart,” hooted Thelma, my wife of twenty-three years, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can’t wait to see how you two get out of this one.”

    That would Amber Lynn Jenkins, my next door neighbor. She wore no shoes and was wearing only a long, tight white T-shirt. A diamond stud adorned each ear. That was it. On display were long tan legs and arms along with high conical breasts that, word on the street said, were paid for by the mayor. Before being hauled to the station, she somehow managed to lacquer her pouty lips and touch up a flawless complexion with just the right amount of blush. She looked ready to take the stage.

    I glared at Thelma with one eyebrow cocked.

    The morning had started with such promise until I spotted my name in the morning newspaper next to a story about the infamous blue goose being stolen from its decades-long perch in front of the Blue Goose Tavern in downtown Royal Oak. Next thing I know, the cops are banging on my door, cuffing me, and tossing me in the back of a squad car next to Amber Lynn. Now I’m sitting in the police station, wearing a shabby yellow terrycloth robe and a pair of white socks. A plastic blue goose is staring at me from across the desk.

    The sergeant cleared his throat. “The last time you and Amber Lynn were here, you two were arrested behind the Frisky Kitty Strip Club on Eight Mile Road for ripping off a 7-11. Mr. Glanz, you were wearing a pair of black jeans, pointed boots, and a black leather vest. A flaming red skull cap covered your head—”

    “Oy,” Thelma mumbled.

    The sergeant continued. “You had a sack of cash in one hand and a cherry Slurpee in the other. Now you and Miss Jenkins are accused of stealing the iconic blue goose from in front of the Blue Goose Tavern—”

    “I’m totally innocent sergeant,” I said holding up my hands.

    “Me too!” chimed Amber Lynn.

    “You’re hallucinating again Harry,” Thelma snorted. “I keep telling you alcohol and Viagra don’t mix—”

    “—the goose was found on your porch with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs around its neck and black G-sting wrapped around its head. The words FRISKY KITTY were found stitched inside the undergarment.”

    “Here we go again,” Thelma chirped.

    All I remembered was getting in the red convertible Mustang. “You’ve got the wrong man,” I protested.

    “We were framed” howled Amber Lynn.

    “Harry, it’s those stupid Netflix movies,” Thelma said, anger pulsating through her voice. “Buxom Biker Babes my—”

    The door swung open. A uniformed officer walked in accompanied by a short muscle-bound man with a thick mane of oily spiked blond hair. A hoop earring dangled from one ear. “Sarge, this is Nick Bergstrom, owner of the Blue Goose Tavern—”

    “Zer you are! Who vood take my blue goose? He come all the vay from Switzerland with me.”

    The grief-stricken bird owner scooped the blue goose off the desk and cradled it lovingly in his arms. The man’s piercing green eyes danced between Amber Lynn and me before settling back to Amber Lynn. He smiled. “And who might this beautiful woman hippen to ze?”

    I glanced at Amber Lynn. Her pouty lips turned into a smirk. She stood up and closed the distance with Nick Bergstrom. Towering six inched taller than Bergstrom in her bare feet, her conical breasts poked the man square in the nose.

    My name is Amber Lynn Jenkins,” she said, practically burying Bergstrom’s face in her chest.

    The sergeant interrupted. “These are the two hooligans that stole your goose, Mr. Bergstrom. Now if you’ll just sign this statement, we’ll charge these two with felony burglary—”

    Bergstrom gazed up into Amber Lynn’s blue eyes. It was over. He was putty in her hands. “I…I vill not be pressing charges against zes two.”

    The sergeant shook his head. “It’s your choice Mr. Bergstrom.” He motioned to the door. “You two are free to go.”

    My bladder almost exploded.

    Amber Lynn shot me wink and strolled out of the office arm in arm with Bergstrom discussing her new job as hostess at the Blue Goose. The infamous plastic blue goose, still blindfolded with a G-sting and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs wrapped around its neck, dangled in his other arm.

    I looked over at Thelma, a smirk plastered across my face. Her cheeks flushed red and blue veins bulged out of her neck. He head would explode if she knew what Amber Lynn whispered in the backseat of the squad car this morning. Amid all the chaos and confusion, the only words I heard were whipped cream, a Spider Man costume, and Wonder Woman. Now that sounded like an adventure!

  29. madeindetroit

    MYSTERY OF THE BLUE GOOSE

    The sergeant sitting on the other side of the desk thumbed through the police report. His grey eyes darted back and forth between the pages while his face remained expressionless. He appeared to be in his mid-fifties. He had a thin crop of white hair and vermilion-covered cheeks (from too much sun or too much alcohol). Wire-rimmed reading glasses hung on the tip of crooked nose. Just like the last time I found myself in this position, I reminded myself to invite him to my next poker game—if I could keep my stupid ass out of jail.

    When he completed his review of the report, he closed the folder. “Well, Mr. Glanz,” he said nodding in my direction, “and Miss Jenkins, this is quite a story.”

    “Call me Harry,” I said. “I hope—”

    “—and call me Amber Lynn,” she said, fluttering her dazzling blue eyes at the sergeant.

    “Good luck with that, sweetheart,” hooted Thelma, my wife of twenty-three years, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can’t wait to see how you two get out of this one.”

    That would Amber Lynn Jenkins, my next door neighbor. She wore no shoes and was wearing only a long, tight white T-shirt. A diamond stud adorned each ear. That was it. On display were long tan legs and arms along with high conical breasts that, word on the street said, were paid for by the mayor. Before being hauled to the station, she somehow managed to lacquer her pouty lips and touch up a flawless complexion with just the right amount of blush. She looked ready to take the stage.

    I glared at Thelma with one eyebrow cocked.

    The morning had started with such promise until I spotted my name in the morning newspaper next to a story about the infamous blue goose being stolen from its decades-long perch in front of the Blue Goose Tavern in downtown Royal Oak. Next thing I know, the cops are banging on my door, cuffing me, and tossing me in the back of a squad car next to Amber Lynn. Now I’m sitting in the police station, wearing a shabby yellow terrycloth robe and a pair of white socks. A plastic blue goose is staring at me from across the desk.

    The sergeant cleared his throat. “The last time you and Amber Lynn were here, you two were arrested behind the Frisky Kitty Strip Club on Eight Mile Road for ripping off a 7-11. Mr. Glanz, you were wearing a pair of black jeans, pointed boots, and a black leather vest. A flaming red skull cap covered your head—”

    “Oy,” Thelma mumbled.

    The sergeant continued. “You had a sack of cash in one hand and a cherry Slurpee in the other. Now you and Miss Jenkins are accused of stealing the iconic blue goose from in front of the Blue Goose Traven—”

    “I’m totally innocent sergeant,” I said holding up my hands.

    “Me too!” chimed Amber Lynn.

    “You’re hallucinating again Harry,” Thelma snorted. “I keep telling you alcohol and Viagra don’t mix—”

    “—the goose was found on your porch with a pair of fuzzy handcuffs around its neck and black G-sting wrapped around its head. The words FRISKY KITTY were found stitched inside the undergarment.”

    “Here we go again,” Thelma chirped.

    All I remembered was getting in the red convertible Mustang. “You’ve got the wrong man,” I protested.

    “We were framed” howled Amber Lynn.

    “Harry, it’s those stupid Netflix movies,” Thelma said, anger pulsating through her voice. “Buxom Biker Babes my—”

    The door swung open. A uniformed officer walked in accompanied by a short muscle-bound man with a thick mane of oily spiked blond hair. A hoop earring dangled from one ear. “Sarge, this is Nick Bergstrom, owner of the Blue Goose Tavern—”

    “Zer you are! Who vood take my blue goose? He come all the vay from Switzerland with me.”

    The grief-stricken bird owner scooped the blue goose off the desk and cradled it lovingly in his arms. The man’s piercing green eyes danced between Amber Lynn and me before settling back to Amber Lynn. He smiled. “And who might this beautiful woman hippen to ze?”

    I glanced at Amber Lynn. Her pouty lips turned into a smirk. She stood up and closed the distance with Nick Bergstrom. Towering six inched taller than Bergstrom in her bare feet, her conical breasts poked the man square in the nose.

    My name is Amber Lynn Jenkins,” she said, practically burying Bergstrom’s face in her chest.

    The sergeant interrupted. “These are the two hooligans that stole your goose, Mr. Bergstrom. Now if you’ll just sign this statement, we’ll charge these two with felony burglary—”

    Bergstrom gazed up into Amber Lynn’s blue eyes. It was over. He was putty in her hands. “I…I vill not be pressing charges against zes two.”

    The sergeant shook his head. “It’s your choice Mr. Bergstrom.” He motioned to the door. “You two are free to go.”

    My bladder almost exploded.

    Amber Lynn shot me wink and strolled out of the office arm in arm with Bergstrom discussing her new job as hostess at the Blue Goose. The infamous plastic blue goose, still blindfolded with a G-sting and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs wrapped around its neck, dangled in his other arm.

    I looked over at Thelma, a smirk plastered across my face. Her cheeks flushed red and blue veins bulged out of her neck. He head would explode if she knew what Amber Lynn whispered in the backseat of the squad car this morning. Amid all the chaos and confusion, the only words I heard were whipped cream, a Spider Man costume, and Wonder Woman. Now that sounded like an adventure!

    1. ReathaThomasOakley

      Beebles, that is amazing. I could taste the dust, hear the hoof beats. Many times I’ve visited Virginia City, Montana, and Deadwood SD, before the gambling took over, and lived for years close to Johnson County Wars territory. You caught the feel and flavor of the real old west. So very well done.

    1. ReathaThomasOakley

      Kerry, found it! What a story! All hard boiled elements were there, loved the names, the venues, especially the dialogue. I’m looking forward to the next installment.

  30. ReathaThomasOakley

    Crime Log
    1911
    (For those newer, and as a refresher, this is part of The Girl saga)

    “Marmalade?” Harold Hightower heard the word, but had no idea what it meant or who was speaking, so intent was he on the newspaper he clutched with white knuckled fingers. He could clearly see his hands, but the surface of the paper was blurring, as if covered with…

    “What?” He made an effort to look up from what he’d just read. “What did you say?”

    “Harold, I asked if you wanted marmalade. Cook’s opened a new jar, first of those made from the Sevilles Daddy insisted you plant year before last.” Harold studied the large, blonde woman sitting across from him, the space between them filled with platters of bacon and scrambled eggs, silver clad bottles, a coffee pot, a rack of toast. She seemed to be holding a small jar, speaking in a foreign language. “I know you didn’t want to put in the Sevilles, said they were too bitter to sell, but once again, Daddy was right and you, Harold, were wrong.”

    The woman put the jar down and reached for the bacon. The front of her wrapper fell away and Harold watched, fascinated, as the lace of her nightgown stretched more and more tightly across her white flesh. He knew other men envied him this woman, made knowing comments about her “bountiful” body.

    Suddenly the image of another woman, no more than a girl, sitting at this very table, flashed through Harold’s brain. He groaned and threw the paper to the floor.

    “Harold?” The woman held the fork, motionless, over the platter. “Harold, what on earth is wrong with you? You haven’t eaten a thing, typical, but you are usually at least civil at breakfast.” Harold suddenly remembered her name, Sue Ann, and that she, and not the other, was his lawfully wedded wife.

    “And, why ever did you throw down the paper? Something else you don’t agree with? Daddy says this editor has his head on straight, not like the last one you favored. I think Daddy has been meeting with him, helping him get a feel for things…”

    Her voice went on and on, but Harold no longer heard her, just recalled the story printed next to his photograph on the front page. Local Grove Owner Again Under Suspicion After Skeleton Found, the headline screamed. Harold had only skimmed the article, but remembered words like common-law wife, dubious reputation, abandoned infant daughter, railroad worker. Harold groaned again, realized Sue Ann now had the paper in her hands.

    “Harold? Is this what’s got you in such a state? This rubbish? Daddy told me there’d been some talk since that lake was drained to expand the groves and those bones found.” Harold wanted to throttle the woman standing next to his chair. Bones? Could they be Sarah’s? His beloved Sarah who had suddenly disappeared five years before?

    “Harold, listen to me,” she carefully smoothed the crumpled paper with her large white hands, put it on the table, and sat back down. “Daddy says the editor had to write this, that those crazy women from the woods came into the newspaper office, insisting. Harold, you know those women,” he could only nod, yes, those women, Sarah’s aunts now raising Sarah’s daughter, HIS daughter, not a bastard, a little thing, brown hair and eyes, tiny extra teeth, hidden until she smiled…

    “Harold!” Her voice was ice. “Listen. Nothing will come of this, Daddy promised. Whoever was in that lake, it wasn’t that woman who seduced you, I promise,” Harold looked at his wife. “Now, pull yourself together. The children will be down soon,” her children, each conceived in alcohol fueled rage. “And, I believe you have a meeting at ten. As I was saying, you should try this marmalade. Toast is cold, I’ll ring for some fresh.” Harold watched her shake the silver bell.

    “Oh, by the way, Daddy said sheriff might be by this morning, just to visit.” She stood and walked to the window. “Hmm, I believe they’re here now.” She walked into the hall. “I must get dressed. Please offer the men coffee, and, Harold, do have them taste the marmalade. It’s a very good batch.”

      1. ReathaThomasOakley

        Thanks cosi. It’s been a while since this part of the story, I need to go back and reread, because I think he’s been Homer, Horace, and now Harold. I must settle on one name. I don’t know how you keep your reoccurring characters straight.

        1. cosi van tutte

          Hi, Reatha!

          For some reason, the name Horace seems to suit him best.

          As for how do I keep my reoccurring characters straight, sheer determination! 😆 I go back and look at my previous stories as I’m writing just to make sure I get the details right.

          Oh! Speaking of reoccurring characters, I’ve finally made a blog for all of my Ambrose and Elsie stories ( ambroseandelsie.wordpress.com ) . It took me a while to get it all set up. My computer didn’t want to cooperate in making another blog. But I managed to figure it out. 🙂

          I’ve reworked the stories. So, they’re slightly different from when I posted them on here.

        1. Kerry Charlton

          Homer, Harold and Horace are on deep do do.
          Your writing is captivating here as usual only more so
          If you don:t start putting your book together, I am going to keep reminding you. This a fascinating saga.

    1. jhowe

      I commented on this before but it didn’t work. Now I forgot what I said. It was good though. Something about how your characters talk like they really should, or maybe it was that it was simply a superb story. I wish I could remember because you would have liked it.

  31. igonzales81

    It was a small town, so there wasn’t much else to do but read the paper on a Sunday morning. And being a small town, there wasn’t much of interest in the paper except the police blotter. I skimmed the ordinary stuff: stray dogs, domestic squabbles, suspicious prowlers—invariably “gone from the scene” by the time the police showed up.

    At the end of the section, an alert caught my eye. It appeared that the police were actually looking for a suspect. My coffee cup shattered on the floor when I saw my name and picture under the bulletin.

    What had I done? When had I done it? I thought hastily over my litany of offenses; other than dodging the tax when I sold a boat trailer two years ago, I couldn’t think of a thing. I was a quiet, decent man, didn’t cause any trouble. I’d never even had any complaints from the neighbors.

    This had to be a mistake. Or a joke. Yes, that was it. One of my friends was just pulling a prank on me. I chuckled, but I didn’t like the way it sounded.

    I had just bent over to clean up the spilled coffee when a knock sounded at the door. I straightened quickly, waited. The knock came again.

    “Lucas, it’s Officer Green.”

    Sweat broke out on my brow. Was this a coincidence? What was going on? I stood still, frozen in panic.

    More pounding on the door. “C’mon Lucas. I know you’re in there. Open up.”

    This couldn’t be happening. The cops at my door. Even if this was all a joke, or a mistake, no one would ever forget it. It was a small town; everyone knew everything that went on. At best, I’d be the butt of jokes for years, a story the guys all told down at the bar for a good laugh at my expense. At worst, it might color my chances to stay on the city council. One way or another, it would be embarrassing, humiliating.

    “Lucas,” Officer Green’s increasingly irate voice came through the door. “Don’t make me break down your door.”

    Suddenly, I knew what was going on. I knew who was behind this. It was Doug. He’d envied me for years, always nipping at my heels, trying to take what was mine. He’d stolen my girl in high school, bought the house I wanted (the big one down by the harbor, that looked so nice when decorated for Christmas), and even snagged the last hunting permits last season. Now he was out to make me look like a fool. Well, that wouldn’t stand.

    My mind awhirl with vengeful thoughts, I made for my gun cabinet. I could sneak out the back easy enough; Officer Green wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. And then, well, then I’d show Doug.

    I picked out my 12 gauge, with a handful of double-ought shells that would give a body an exit wound you could fit a cat through.

    They wanted to charge me with a crime, might as well give them a real crime.

    It never occurred to me to look at the paper again, or to see that the date wasn’t today’s date.

    It was tomorrow’s.

    1. ReathaThomasOakley

      Hey, Jay. Found your story, talk about a twist, and read a few more fun ones. Really liked your take on the twenty dollar bill issue.

  32. dustymayjane

    A little fun….

    I slurped my coffee, forgetting how hot it always is right out of the pot. “Ouch! Dammit that’s hot!”

    “Blow on your coffee Darling.”

    “Yes Dear, I forget.”

    The morning news blared from the television on the counter and the din from the living room boasted Daffy Duck for our little ones.

    My Dear and I enjoyed our morning routine and the newspaper had arrived right on time. She took the life section, I took the sports. The front page news sat between us untouched.

    “The Cubs won last night.”

    “I want to see the new Meryl Streep movie at the Cinema-plex. Maybe this weekend?”

    “Sounds fine Dear, I’ll ask Mother to babysit.”

    “Thank you Darling.”

    We finished our reading and folded our papers together. We glanced at the headlines sitting between us and she gasped, I choked.

    “What the…?”

    “How the…?”

    A knock on the door interrupted our reading of the newsprint with my name in bold letters.

    Rapp, rapp, rapp.

    “Who could that be?”

    My Dear opened the door to find two individuals standing in silhouette of the morning sun.

    “May I help you?” My Dear asked.

    “Is your husband home Ma’am?”

    “May I ask who you are and why you’re looking for him?”

    “I’m Officer Parks and this is Office Clark. We need to see Mister Poppins Ma’am. Now if you don’t mind.” The officers stepped through the doorway, pushing my Dear aside.

    “Darling, there are two police officers here to see you.” My Dear was always polite, even in the face of rudeness.

    I invited the officers into the kitchen where I stood unshaven in my robe. “What can I do for you officers?”

    “Mr. Poppins, you’re under arrest for the murder of Aloisius Dosious. You have the right to remain silent…”

    As I was handcuffed and read my rights, my Dear and our little ones looked on in horror. I didn’t struggle, that only leads to trouble. I felt awful having my little ones witness their daddy being handcuffed and arrested.

    “My Dear, please take the children away.”

    “But my Darling, how…why…?” My Dear wanted answers, as did I.

    “Please Officers. Will you tell my who Aloisius Dosious is and why I’m being arrested for his murder?”

    “You don’t know who Aloisius Dosious is? That’s a good one, eh Clark?”

    Apparently the officers found it hilarious. Meanwhile, I’m astounded at the turn my life has taken in the matter of a few minutes.

    “I do not and I most certainly didn’t murder anyone.” My Dear and our little ones were all in tears and it broke my heart to see. This must be some sort of cruel joke I thought, but who would do such a thing?

    “You mean to tell me you’ve not heard of Supercalifragilitsticexpialoisiusdosious !”

    “No I have not, and the sound of it is something quite atrocious!”

    The officers scratched their heads saying, “humdittledittle humdittley.

    1. igonzales81

      That’s an interesting take. So, is witnessing her father being arrested an event that defined what Mary Poppins would become? I can see that. Great story.

    2. Beebles

      Great and quirky, dusty. I had to keep reading to see where it was going. I have to point out though, as an English family of breeding, we would never stoop to the use of the words What the…. implies. we do have standards y’know 🙂

  33. ShamelessHack

    The Headline: “Crazed Killer Sought in Vicious Murder.”
    The Photo: Severed arms and legs scattered in a parking lot, a head in a garbage can, two eyeballs (crossed) on the sidewalk.

    I start to read, and my hands shake. But I don’t get past the first paragraph before I hear, “Police! Open up!”
    I step gingerly to the door and open it a crack. The two policemen push their way in. One of them says, “You’re coming with us!”
    “W-what’s going on officer?” I ask, unable to hold back a stutter. “Y-you’re making some kind of mistake.”
    “It’s no mistake,” the second cop pipes up. “You’re the prime suspect in the murder of—“
    He stops suddenly as he spies my shotgun leaning against the wall. “Ah ha! Don’t tell us that’s not yours!”
    I glance at the shotgun. “Um, uh, well yes, th-that’s mine.”
    One of the officers walks across to the gun and feels the barrel. “Still hot!” He looks at his partner, whose eyebrows shoot up almost off his face. “Book him, Jake,” he bellows. His tongue is almost hanging out in the anticipation of his promotion back at the station.
    Jake’s eyes narrow to black lines, he grabs me by the collar, and then hustles me out the door into the police car. He gets into the driver’s seat, scratches his ear with his left foot, and we take off.
    We barrel over the hills, the car catching air from time to time.

    At the police station, I’m placed in a room with a chair and a single light bulb. After a few minutes a detective walks in. He looks familiar, except for the handlebar moustache and a fedora pulled so low over his face that it almost rests on his bill.
    “Where were you latht night at thix o’clock?” He asks, grabbing the front of my shirt and pulling me so close that our bloodshot eyeballs touch.
    “I-I was out shooting, I mean shopping…” my voice wanders off.
    “Thufferin’ thuccatash,” he sprays into my face. “You were out rabbit hunting!” He quickly constructs a gallows in the center of the room and places the noose around my neck.
    A small yellow bird wearing a priest’s collar and carrying a thick bible walks into the room to give me my last rights.
    “I th-thought I’m getting a fair trial,” I stammer.
    “Sure you did,” says the canary. “And I taught I taw a puddy tat.”

    As the noose tightens, I hear the crunch of a carrot from outside the door, and a familiar voice:
    “Ehhh…that’s all folks.”
    And it was.

    1. Teserk

      I caught many of the Loony Tunes references, but some of them were maybe a little too obscure for me to get. This was very out of the box thinking. Clever take!

    2. Beebles

      sweet. I saw a rather distubing song and dance routine between sylvester and tweety pi at a music fesitval recently. Can’t put my finger on what ws so odd about it but i shall never look at the artoons in the same way again.

  34. AlexandriaElise

    This is my first time doing this so please bare with me;

    Our night went smoothly, he made sweet love to me all night. I hadn’t realized we actually stayed up all night until I herd the birds chirping and I noticed the sun peeking through my window. I woke up showered and started to get ready, I grabbed my paper and sat down to enjoy my coffee an catch up on what was going on in the world.
    What my eyes saw on page 3 of the paper bewildered me. My photo was plastered in the paper and it read “26 Year Old Wanted for the Murder of her Mother”
    I was terrified, something was terribly wrong, not only had I just spoke to my mother not more than 48 hours ago but she was dead? I ran to my bedroom, hot tears ran down my face, my body shook.

    “Baby, what’s wrong”

    “Here! Look at this, what is it? Darius I am being framed in the worst way ever and my mom is gone!”

    “There has to be a misunderstanding baby” he said. No later than he finished his sentence, we heard a helicopter outside, I walked over to the window and watched as the helicopter hovered over my home and about 7 or 8 police cars pull up.

    “How could this be happening”, I thought to myself.

    “Ms. Peters come out with your hands up” is what I heard the officer yell.
    I looked at Darius and cried even harder, he looked at me with a blank stare. He never uttered a word.

    “COME OUSIDE WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

    Finally Darius spoke, ‘Baby, I promise I will not anything to happen to you, please go with the officers before matters get worse, I will follow you all to the precinct and i’m going to call my lawyer”
    I kissed Darius, although I knew for sure I didn’t hurt my mother, I wasn’t so sure I was going to get through this. I walked to my front door and opened it, the officers had their guns drawn and that led me to believe that there was no I was going to be free from this insane madness.
    as I sat in the back of the patrol car, handcuffed all I could do was cry, my mother was really dead so the paper said and I was the murderer. I managed to look back and saw Darius racing to speed up with us. I closed my eyes and prayed hard, “please let this be a horrific nightmare”.

    When I opened my eyes, there I was laying back in my bed laying next to the man that made passionate love to me the night before. All I could do was smile. It was all over.

    1. Teserk

      Thanks for posting, Alexandria. The first time is always the hardest!

      I liked the way you brought the emotion to the forefront. I especially liked how you focused her reaction on the fact that her mother was dead, as opposed to the arrest. The arrest would be confusing, but her mother being dead would be devastating. Great job.

      1. chandra_wd_writer

        Welcome and congrats on your first post! Agree with Teserk on how you focused on her mother’s death than her own arrest. Good job.

    2. Beebles

      Hi Alexandria and welcome. There are some terrific writers on here who have helped me alot both by their comments and just by reading and thinking about how they write. My first ever post landed just as the prompt changed, so I never knew if anyone read it! I liked the way this was going, particularly the consistency in the relationship – the way Darius said ‘baby’ when he addressed the MC. But I so wanted Darius to have set her up 🙂 My one piece of advice at this stage would be to read your work out loud to yourself. This will pick up glitches in the language and any missing words. Looking forward to more.

      1. ReathaThomasOakley

        Welcome. I’ll echo what Beebles wrote, read everything aloud at least once. Then look at every sentence to make certain every word is necessary and used correctly. You might want to go back and see how others have approached the weekly prompt. You will see different styles and comments. Keep writing.

  35. chandra_wd_writer

    It went a bit long. Hope you guys like reading the story. This time, I am looking for some feedback on my language, grammar, etc. as well. Hopefully, I have improved from my first prompt here.

    With a sigh of relief from being able to breathe fresh air after smelling the stench in the police van for few hours, I stretched myself as far as my cuffed arms allowed me. The Sun was shining in bright glory as if he was fighting to turn the blue into white while the cloudless sky resisted. Surprisingly, the demanding guard, who had an emotionless face, allowed me to enjoy those few final moments of joy and freedom outside the giant walls—the walls whose outsides I would never probably see again.

    My whole life flashed in front of me by the time I gave out a huge sigh from the stretch. The mild wind cooled my sweat-drenched body; with that, I felt more relaxed than I was a few moments ago.

    Only a few months ago, I was a free man. As free as a recently divorced man could be when his wife left him after ten years of marriage. A successful marriage that is. Success, like many other things in life, is a very subjective matter.

    I woke up that day, like any other days in those days, after the alcohol finally wore off. If it weren’t for the baseball game the night before, I would never have opened the door to check the newspaper. I just got back from vacation in Mexico the evening before. I drove from San Deigo; that’s where I lived. I only remember that I started drinking an hour into the game and couldn’t recall who won or when it was finished.

    The coffee maker stared at me helplessly from the depressingly empty kitchen countertop. When we were together, my wife would make coffee every day before I woke up and read the newspaper with a mysterious interest.

    When I was turning the pages, my eyes vaguely saw a known, blurry figure towards the right corner of the folded newspaper. As my focus shifted, I sat straight in shock as I saw something I never imagined I would see. There was my photo from Facebook profile picture and the text below it read: “Wanted for Murder. $10,000 Reward. ”

    I checked the name in disbelief thinking someone would have used my photo mistakenly. But it was my name, and the descriptions matched my physical appearance: six feet, white male, average build, in the late thirties. It is unmistakably me then, I thought.

    As I read the smaller print below the bold heading, I learned that I was wanted for the murder of my wife. Well, I haven’t yet gotten used to saying ‘my ex-wife’ even after a few months of vacation after the divorce and the excruciating trial.

    Before I could get to my phone, I heard an approaching police siren which I quite surprisingly ignored. Why would an innocent man run?

    In a few seconds, there were loud knocks on the front door.

    “San Diego PD. Mr. Howard, please open the door. We have an arrest warrant for you,” said a familiar male voice.

    “Hands behind your head,” added a female voice, which I believed was from a young, beautiful female officer. My alcohol did not completely wear off, of course.

    “I am innocent,” I shouted, having thought of nothing else to say.

    “Please open the door. Now,” said the same male voice; this time, it felt fearful.

    “I am innocent,” I said again as I opened the door. My hands still relaxed.

    “Hands. Behind,” said the female officer. How wrong was my imagination, she was probably in her late forties and no trace of beauty on her wrinkled, harsh face.

    “I am innocent. Let me call my lawyer,” I said, trying to compose myself from the shock. I was, quite paradoxical in that situation, an upcoming criminal lawyer having switched careers from a sports journalist. I knew the law, and I knew how people get away from murders. If I did kill my wife, I would never have left a trace. But the thought that troubled me was, whether I was innocent or I did kill her while I was intoxicated. I would leave that to my lawyer friend to figure out, I thought.

    Continued… In the comment below.

    1. chandra_wd_writer

      My wife left me because she had fallen in love with this world famous—well, that’s what his advertisements used to read, and I never believed—plastic surgeon in his late thirties. It wasn’t an easy divorce to begin with. She loved me, or at least, she did until this dude swept her away. I should probably take some blame: switching careers, partying with rich, se*y clients, and a few other insignificant things which I will probably mention later.

      But there I was under the trial for my wife’s murder. Ex-wife, of course. As ‘ex’ as a dead wife can be.

      Of course, as you can guess from the opening, I was convicted in the end—even after using all my expertise in getting away with murder. At some point during the trial, though I don’t know exactly when, I probably started to believe I did kill her. There was undeniable DNA evidence at the crime scene. And all the expertise and effort of our lawyer friends went in vain.

      The trial went on for a long, painful six months, though I sometimes wished that it ended sooner. Life in prison was what we negotiated. In those six months, I had seen things beyond my control that no tears came to me when I heard the judgment. It was inevitable. Sometimes I even wished I was sentenced to death to end all this forever.

      On the day of final judgment, I noticed a strange, yet familiar looking figure in the audience. She was standing in the corner of the faraway row, and her hair was a dark black as if to magnify my dark fate. I noticed her right after the judge pronounced the fatal words. She strangely reminded me of my dead wife for a moment. But her dark hair and face were not like my wife’s. But when our eyes met, the realization of who she was sent chills through my spine. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but I could never forget those eyes as well, though her eyebrows curved in a strange angle.

      It was unmistakably her—my dead wife. Eyes can never lie. That’s when I scanned her body, and there she stood: a sweet five feet five inches tall with familiar curves. Her face, now with high cheekbones; and her nose, now with an annoyingly sharp edge made her look like an entirely different woman. But her eyes, I recalled, were still as bright as when I met her the first time in San Francisco. “In fact, he is a world famous plastic surgeon,” I whispered to myself.

      Cops cuffed me again, and my friends faded into the darkness of the even darker realization that only I had in that bright courtroom. I was framed for reasons I would probably never understand. After all, karma got its revenge, maybe.

      For the first time in those six months, I was happy as I was relieved from the unknown, false guilt that was hanging in the darkest corner of my heart. Also, I was relieved that it wasn’t the capital punishment.

      I finally had a reason to live: to prove my innocence.

      1. Teserk

        Hi Chandra – since it seems you’re looking for a little more of a critique that what we usually give on here, I’ll share some deeper thoughts.

        I like the overall premise of the story. “Guy gets framed for the murder of his ex-wife and discovers at sentencing that she is still alive.” I had some problems with how you told it, however.

        First, because the story is in first person, I expect to really get into the emotions of the character, but this was short on emotion. The prose comes off more matter of fact. I would like to feel what he’s feeling as he goes through the police arriving, the trial, the acceptance that maybe he did, in fact, commit the murder while drunk, the discovery of his wife still alive, and then the resolution at the end that he is going to prove his innocence.

        Second, I think there is too much exposition for such a short tale. You tell the parts about the arrest and conviction as a flashback in the middle of the scene of the MC arriving at the prison. This makes you think you need a lot of set up. I propose that you could cut most of that out, focusing instead on action. This would move the story in a more dynamic way.

        Third, while your descriptions are good, you include details that aren’t really necessary. Take this line: “But it was my name, and the descriptions matched my physical appearance: six feet, white male, average build, in the late thirties.” You could have stopped at “physical appearance.” While the other details are true, you never reference them anywhere else in the story. The story would be cleaner if you pared away the extras like this.

        Now, all of this said, this is just my opinion. It’s your tale–and it’s a fine one–and you can set up the structure and tone however you like. 🙂

        Thanks for sharing! I look forward to reading more of your work.

        1. chandra_wd_writer

          Hi Teserk, Thanks for taking time to read and share your detailed feedback. Really helps me. Everyone’s feedback in this forum has been very helpful and encouraging me to write and improve. I debated for a bit if I should open the scene at prison or not. But now I get the idea after reading your feedback. Also, I should definitely focus more on conveying emotions properly.

          Maybe I should pursue this story for fun in a more longer version and see how it goes. Thanks again!!

          1. SkyFox

            Hi chandra_wd_writer-and welcome to WD- i have a few pointers for you.
            Now in some paragraphs I felt you were reapting facts and emotions over and over again, although this is not major, but it dose make the story drag. (This is just my opionion).
            Also again like Tererk I felt this story had very little emotion, being in first person. I would have loved to feel the internal turmiol the MC felt, and how he felt about his wife.
            Also I need more action. Your story would be that much better if there was a little bit of action and suspense to draw and feed the reader. Also it would help move the story on a bit. 🙂
            This is just my opinion and I wish you well on your jorurney to become a beautiful writer- you have the potential- and to become a much vauled part of this community!
            Keep writing
            Sky

      2. ReathaThomasOakley

        As Beebles suggested in another comment, read your story aloud. Plus, I’ve had fun going back to before I started posting to read how others approached prompts. Keep writing, that’s the only way to find your voice.

        1. chandra_wd_writer

          Thank you, SkyFox! I learned quite a bit from the feedback on this post. I randomly landed on this forum a few prompts ago and can’t be more happier to meet all the great folks here, and also enjoy diverse takes on the prompts. Hope to use this feedback into the next attempt.

          Thanks, Reatha!

    1. chandra_wd_writer

      If anyone else is facing issues with posting, I kind of guessed it was due to the word “s e x y,” without the spaces, of course. Probably some spam filtering.

      1. Pete

        For two weeks I’ve been unable to post. I hit reply and the screen changes but my post doesn’t show up. When I try again it says duplicate comment. I don’t think sensor, I mean this is a writing site, you know?

        1. SkyFox

          Very strange. I to had problems with posting, when trying to post it just vanished into thin air. Maybe censoring? Although I can remeber swearing in my earlier posts. Dose anyone have any ideas when it will fix itself?

          1. chandra_wd_writer

            I tried posting maybe thrice yesterday and it just vanished, and finally my geeky, web developer side of the brain spotted the offensive word. As if by magic, my posts appeared here when I changed the word. But it’s only a guess.

            I can see the frustration when this happens. Hope it gets fixed soon. Also, I am desperately missing a like button on this forum. Not sure where to share feedback with WD.

            @Pete: try creating a new username, that seems to be working for a few people, thought not ideal.

  36. SkyFox

    Not my best work, this is just for the heck of it! I will repost again!
    ———————————————————————————————————————————————————-
    I felt my fear rising inside of me, like a wave cresting and about to crash. I stared dumbfolded at the paper. 5 murders under my name.
    My neck heated up the blood rising to my face. This couldnt have happened. If..if.
    I slammed my hand onto the table, shaking my plate.
    I ran through the options in my head, the ticking of the clock echoing through the house.
    I could run, but that would make me look guilty. I could hide, but where? I was a social outcast. No one would take me in.
    The room was stifling as I slammed my chair back, the scrape echocing through the dusty house. I dont clean. At all.
    I ran down the hall, the clock ticking, ticking away at the seconds I had left and threw open the door, my panting echoing through the empty space.
    Fingers spasming I fell on the floor until I felt a cold metal ring.
    The crack of my footsteps was the only sound as I went deeper, deeper.
    I jumped and landed on the floor in a crouch, my eyes burning with anger.
    He was here.
    I walked over to him, where he was lying, hands bound- my doing- and gagged- with a triple not- his chest rising and falling quickly.
    “What did you do?”
    His sholder shook.
    “What.Did.You.Do?”
    He turned his body toward me, his black hair falling in his eyes.
    “I got revenge.”
    He drew his hand away from the wound, the fingers stained a dark black.
    I screamd and kicked his stoamch, his head, his arms, his legs. Until a horrible crack sounded.
    I stopped panting, my sneakers stained with blood. He was dead.
    ““Police! Open up!”
    My sholder shook and hot trickles of silver ran down my face.
    I shoved the lifeless body in the corner and threw a blanket on top.
    My life invention, my life work had turned against me.
    I slid down the wall, my sholders heaving as I heard the crack of the door splintering above.
    My brother. My twin. My clone had gotten revenge. I shook my head.
    I should have never createad that machine, created my clone.
    The sound of boots echoed over head as I rested my head on the cold,cold stone.
    Let them take me.

    1. chandra_wd_writer

      Well, ‘I should have never createad that machine, created my clone,’ twisted the story into a whole different direction than I guessed. Nice, short take on the prompt.

    2. Teserk

      Interesting that while the MC didn’t actually commit the murders he was accused of, he shows himself a hot-blooded murderer in killing the clone. I liked how much characterization you packed into this small piece.

  37. Bug0934

    Help!! I apologize for posting this here but I need help! I can log in here, but every time I try to log into the forum(critique area) I am re routed back to my profile or asked to log in.
    I cannot contact any of those admins, view my post, or anything, because I get routed back to a log in page!

    Can someone email an administrator for me, give them my user name and have them email me!
    Ive tried everything!

    1. Brian A. Klems Post author

      Hi Bug0934,

      We are aware of the issue. It’s one that many folks are experiencing (including some of our staff members). Unfortunately, it’s something we have been unable to resolve so we’re looking at other solutions as to what we can do.

      My apologies for the inconvenience.
      Brian

  38. cosi van tutte

    It’s a disconcerting thing to see your name in the newspaper when you know you haven’t done anything newsworthy. Seeing your name in the Have You Seen This Criminal? section of the newspaper…well. That sails past disconcerting and enters uncharted seas of what the heck?

    I thought, you know, maybe it was someone who just coincidently had the same name as me. It’s 50/50 odds, right? Wrong. There was a picture next to my name and guess what? Looked just like me.

    I read the Criminal’s Crime paragraph out of morbid curiosity. You know, just to see what I’m supposedly guilty of doing. Wait. What? I can’t be reading that right. No. No! Why would I paint a glittery mustache on Robert DeNiro’s statue in State Park? That doesn’t even make sense.

    I crumpled the newspaper into a big, ineffectual ball and threw it. I ranted and I complained about injustice and infamy and psychological scarring.

    Then, it occurred to me that maybe, maybe it was a practical joke. HA! Some joke. I picked up the newspaper and shredded it into bits. Most satisfying thing I’ve ever done.

    I heard a dreadful pounding on the door. “Police! Open up or we will break your door down!”

    If I were sitting, I would have fallen off my seat.

    “We know that you’re in there. Come out with your hands over your head. Do not grab any weapons on the way to the door because we will shoot you. Just so you know.”

    I walked over to the door without any weapons. Although, I will admit that I gave Grandma Tilly’s Topiary Award a long look, but I really didn’t want to get shot. That was one life experience I never wanted to experience.

    I opened the door.

    Yep. Sure enough. There were police out there.

    Soo, if this were a prank, someone went through a lot of trouble. “Can I help you?”

    “Yes. Come with us peacefully or else.”

    “Why? What have I done?”

    The lead police guy pulled out his gun, which was a huge over-reaction on his part. I just asked a simple question. “Put your hands on your head and step outside. We’re taking you to the station for questioning.”

    I wanted to argue, but one should never argue with a cop holding a gun. (See my prior comment about not wanting to get shot.) “I didn’t do anything wrong, but I’ll humor you crazy guys.”

    I really hoped that I’d be able to talk my way out of this.

    1. chandra_wd_writer

      Well done, Cosi. I really hope he/she does end up talking their way out of this. Else, they will be looming somewhere in the corner of your creative world 🙂

    2. Teserk

      This piece didn’t really take itself seriously, and I liked that. Two lines I enjoyed a lot:

      “I picked up the newspaper and shredded it into bits. Most satisfying thing I’ve ever done.”

      “Do not grab any weapons on the way to the door because we will shoot you. Just so you know.”

      Fun take.

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